


Awake My Soul

by EmilyByrdStarr



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: 1920s, Attempted at least, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Feminist Themes, Gangsters, Girl Power, Graphic Description, Gun Violence, Historical Accuracy, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired By Peaky Blinders, Male-Female Friendship, Nurses & Nursing, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Police Brutality, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slow Burn, World War I, and everyone's traumatized so, look y'all this is Peaky Blinders, we're talking about the Peaky Blinders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyByrdStarr/pseuds/EmilyByrdStarr
Summary: When Amelia starts working in one of the worst neighbourhoods of Birmingham she wants a purpose, something to keep her mind off of the past. She has memories she doesn't want to speak of, ever again.  Small Heath seems like the best place to keep them locked and secured forever. However, a chance encounter puts everything she built at risk: her secrets, her identity and even her life.What she does afterwards is this story.
Relationships: Arthur Shelby/Linda Shelby, Esme Shelby/John Shelby, Grace Burgess/Arthur Shelby, Polly Gray & Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 118





	1. Head in the dust, feet in the fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks!  
> This is my first time writing for this fandom! I watched Peaky Blinders at the beginning of quarantine and I, of course, became obsessed. 
> 
> I don't you how many of you all will like it, but as a warning, before you start reading I'd like to say the following:  
> This is a story where women have absolute protagonism. I love the show but the female characters are -in my humble opinion- underdeveloped, with the exception of Polly Gray. It makes sense because it's Tommy's story, but I wanted more.  
> I created a lot of new characters and almost none of them are men. Amelia has her own story to tell, and as such sometimes it deviates the plot of the show. Remain flexible to its changes, if possible. 
> 
> I drew inspiration from the show "Call the Midwife" as well, but not too much. 
> 
> If you find grammatical mistakes, please let me know so I can fix them. English isn't my first language, so even though I use every resource available to get everything right, I can only do so much. 
> 
> Reviews, kudos and constructive criticism are always welcomed!

* * *

Did you see the frightened ones?

Did you hear the falling bombs?

Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the

Promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath a clear blue

Sky?

Did you see the frightened ones?

Did you hear the falling bombs?

The flames are all long gone, but the pain lingers on

Pink Floyd

* * *

**Birmingham, 1919**

Amelia was late for breakfast. Stumbling to put on her shoes, she ran towards the stairs and almost fell -face first. 

"My God, lass! Ye could've gotten yerself killed!" The bony hand that belonged to that voice pulled her back before she could tip forward. She narrowly avoided falling on her arse. The Scottish accent was unmistakable: sister Liza had rescued her. Amelia thanked her with a glance and then got on her way, running down the stairs and across the hallway. 

There! The breakfast room was so close now, she would make it before the bell rang. Only a few feet and...

Jane Abbotsford, The Educated Nurse, with her dirty blonde hair pulled into the most perfect chignon and her incredibly elegant steps, walked out of the breakfast room and smiled her most poisonous smirk. With a small shrug of false compassion towards Amelia, she rang the bell. The breakfast hour had finished and with it, her opportunity to fill her belly with powdered eggs, thin strips of bacon and tepid tea. 

_ Fucking cunt _ , thought Amelia viciously. 

"Good morning! Sorry, I missed you there. You look a bit frazzled! I'm afraid I can't let you in." 

"Yeah, alright. I had some chocolate, I ate that before coming. Thanks anyway", Amelia replied through gritted teeth. It was a lie and not a very good one at that. She was starving. The last time she'd had chocolate was in 1914. Her stomach was starting to protest the lack of food. She'd skipped dinner last night with a few urgent cases, the last of the time she'd spent seeing people at Edgbaston. Jane was grinning, and the thought of punching her reappeared in her mind. Their tense conversations had been happening since her first night at Brighid's House. 

Amelia had said something about France, to which Jane had replied that she did not care for such things. "Any idiot can make it to the battlefront. Many did, actually."

Jane hadn't even been to France… or anywhere during the war. She'd been home, "educating herself”. That, paired with her nagging questions about Amelia's past and family, had made her impossible to cultivate a cordial relationship.

Why did she act like she was better than anyone else? And why exactly did Amelia care? 

She realized that in truth, she didn't. 

"Well good morning Miss Flannery! What kept you up last night that you felt the need to be tardy today?" 

Amelia composed her best contrite smile. 

"I'm so sorry, sister Mary. I- 

"As we agreed before, you're down on Small Heath from today. Watery lane, number ten. A single woman is about to give birth; two young men want something that will knock them out at night."

She nodded to the strictly dressed woman. Sister Mary's light brown skin contrasted sharply against the white of her veil, and her thin lips were pursed in disapproval. She had that expression so often that small wrinkles had appeared around her mouth. 

Turning around, Amelia obeyed her orders.

On the way to prepare her first aid kit, she found Camilla and smiled for the first time since waking up. 

Six months ago, she'd gone to her previously un-shared bedroom to sleep. When opening the door, she'd found a shy woman with two suitcases filled to burst. Amelia didn’t want a roommate, but after the first night they became close friends. Camilla had been serving in the home front as a Voluntary Aid Detachment, so it became clear for them both that they could understand each other in ways that the other girls simply weren’t able to. They were too young to have any experience with battlefield wounds, screaming soldiers and mustard gas.

"You missed breakfast!" her friend declared while arranging her white cap over her fiery red hair. Amelia did the same before answering. For a moment, she envied the luscious quality of Camilla’s hair. She had it neatly tied into a low bun, with not a single strand out of place. Amelia’s, however, was a dark mass of tangled curls which not even the cap could entirely hide. 

"You noticed? Yes, I missed breakfast. I was up last night and now sister Mary will have my head for lunch."

A moment of silence followed, in which her friend pinned down the cap and secured it as best she could. 

"Still can't sleep?" Camilla asked at length.

This was a loaded question, one that would spark an argument, so Amelia didn't answer. 

With a frustrated sigh, she shoved the white apron inside her bag. Her instruments were disinfected, the medicines were packed, she had enough bandages just in case -another lie, there were never enough bandages or enough medicines- and she was ready to face the long day ahead. The thermometer outside her window had told her it was a freezing morning. It was raining too, with those seemingly innocent drops that got into the bones very quickly. Fortunately, her scarf and coat were thick enough to stop most of the terrible weather from wetting her clothes. 

"What did you get today?" Camilla changed topics and she felt grateful. 

"Watery lane", she said, flinging the bag over her shoulder and proceeding to hit her thigh with it. "Shit." 

"What is this profanity I'm hearing?" Called sister Mary. 

_ Shit _ . 

"I'm sorry, sister!" Amelia said, trying to sound repentant.

"You shall be, should you continue cursing like a sailor." 

_ Fuck, then _ . 

"Watery lane? How come you never told me?" Camilla creased her eyebrows."We never go there. It's too dangerous. It's full of criminals. You know, the kind of people who can and  _ will _ kill you for looking at them. Did sister Mary agree to this?" 

"Yes, in fact, she talked to me about it and I accepted,” Amelia retorted. “I know it’s a bit dangerous, but there are many people in need… and criminals aren’t my concern. I'm sick of Edgbaston. Did you know Lady Mary doesn't want poor people two miles around her property? The police kicked out some veterans for begging! I cannot keep seeing her idiotic face." 

It was true. There weren’t many criminals to be scared of when you had a pistol hidden in your bag. Still, her words didn’t deter Camilla. 

"So you want to go with this presence of mind to work with the worst people in Birmingham? That's rich. Thank God I saved you some tea and one biscuit." 

Amelia quickly turned her head, all defensiveness gone from her eyes. 

"How did you-

"Less talking, more stuffing your mouth. And now, a word of caution: those streets are ruled by the Peaky Blinders." 

Amelia gulped down the lukewarm tea, trying to hide the scowl at the lack of sugar or honey in it, and proceeded to bite off half the biscuit. After watching her with something akin to disgusted amazement, Camilla continued. 

"I know you don't want to read the papers or anything that might give you a snippet of information about your day or even your surroundings, so I will tell you this: if a Peaky Blinder wants to rob you, you better let them because if you don't, you -and I cannot stress this enough- will end up dead in a ditch." 

She swallowed with some force. Her stomach stopped groaning at last. 

"What about the police? Aren’t they supposed to protect the people?" Amelia said a minute later, already knowing the answer. Camilla scoffed at her question. 

"The police? They’ve all been bought off by these gangsters. They won't intervene. Be careful." 

"Yes, yes. I'm always careful", Amelia rolled her eyes. 

"No, you're not. It's really the other way around", replied Camilla. “Remember that time you almost got into a fistfight with-

"I will do my best to not end up dead in a fu- bloody ditch. Or punching someone, for that matter”, her expression softened. “Thanks for the tea. I'm sorry I'm this monster today." 

Camilla patted her shoulder with affection. 

" Go. Pay attention. Read the newspapers from time to time so I don’t have to act like one." 

"Yes, captain!" Amelia saluted and ran outside, with her friend close behind. Her bike was in the covered parking, but the seat was under a water leak. Still, she climbed up and started pedalling. The cold wind bit her cheeks and made her eyes watery, but she loved the sensation of flying she got from speeding through the streets as fast as she could. Once the road became trickier, she had a chance to slow down and look around.

It was that particular moment in the morning, right after the factories started, but before the women went to the market. In Amelia's mind, wives and daughters that didn't work outside were still having breakfast, feeding their children, or even sleeping. As a result, the streets looked deserted. 

Twenty minutes later, she was at the beginning of Watery Lane. This street did have people milling about, many of them coming back home after a night's work at the nearest pub. Others were stumbling to get to their houses, their eyes bloodshot and their noses red. Barefoot children were running around, screaming insults and kicking discarded trash around. 

Amelia hopped off her bike and retrieved her apron and face mask from the bag. After she had put them on, she felt she could walk with a bit of ease down that miserable road. The small pin of Brighid’s cross under her right shoulder made her feel… protected. It was strange. She'd never cared for that kind of thing, and now she felt naked without it. 

The soot of smoke and waste permeated even the windows around her, who looked especially darkened. Many were broken as well, the hole covered by an old bedsheet. She worried for a moment, thinking about the winter inside those cramped rooms, with no running water and no heat to help its tenants through it. Most often than not, it was inside those places where diseases started and spread like vermin, killing people by the thousands. 

They couldn't afford more death. 

She saw the little boy standing a few feet ahead, no more than seven years old, waiting for her as the message had indicated. His feet had worn out shoes on but no socks and his hands and lips were almost blue from the biting cold. He had a mop of dirty dark hair and equally dark eyes.

"Miss Flannery?" He said. His two front teeth were missing, muffling his words adorably.

"That would be me. You gave us notice, I believe." 

The boy nodded and she noticed he was eyeing the bicycle. "Do you want me to give you a ride? How far away is your house?" 

"Aye", he replied, unable to hide his enthusiasm.

She glanced towards the cobbled street and checked the number on the nearest door. They weren't too far from his home. Her arse would pay the price indeed, but the child seemed about to faint from happiness. 

"Come on. I'll help you up." 

She lifted the boy - whose bony elbows and knees worried her-, put him on the bike and pedalled the twenty feet separating her from the house. He screamed with unbridled joy, his small hands over her own. When they stopped, she jumped off first and helped him down. 

"Alright, soldier. Thank you for this incredible adventure. Now, show me where your mother is", Amelia said. 

The neighbours were peeking through the windows, but nobody dared to even whisper a comment. She was sure it was because of her uniform. Had she been in her streetwear, something would have already happened to her.

_ “The most dangerous neighbourhood in Birmingham,”  _ Camilla's voice kept echoing in her mind.

She wasn't scared. No. The feeling in her chest was akin to desolation. What could she, a woman alone, do to remedy decades of abandonment? What could the people expect from her, how could she relate to that deep, terrifying misery? 

She had seen horrors, yes, enough to plague her mind for all her remaining years, but she hadn't seen the hollow eyes of starving children before. 

The boy opened an unstable door, behind which Amelia placed the bicycle, and guided her inside a small flat at the end of the hallway.

Inside, the paint was peeling off and everything had a layer of dust and grime over it. It smelled of old food, rotten wood, fungus and the ever-present smoke. Amelia could hear the voices of the neighbours in the other rooms. The floor was sinking a bit under her weight. 

She sighed, feeling the all too familiar anxiety from being in an enclosed space. She counted the steps that it would take to run through the door. Ten. Her shoulders tensed up. There was someone in need right there, and she couldn’t let her emotions slow her down. If this woman was pregnant, hygiene was going to be a problem. It wasn't new to her, but she would never stop wishing to see people better equipped to clean their lodgings. 

"Alright love, take me to your mum." She finally said. 

The child drew a curtain made out of an old bed sheet to reveal another, smaller room on the other side. This one had the distinct smell of sickness, but at least there was a window where Amelia could have a glimpse of the sky if the need for space arose.

Not that it was a nice view. 

The woman was lying on an old bed with several thin sheets wrapped around her. Her face was gleaming with sweat and her mouth was pursed in a pained expression. The belly was impossible to hide: the birth was around the corner. 

"Morning dear", said Amelia warmly, placing her bag on a stool beside the bed. "What's your name?" 

The woman closed her eyes for a moment as if it pained her to speak. 

"Cora" she muttered finally. "I think the baby's coming." 

Amelia palmed her belly with slow, precise movements. No, this baby wasn't going to be born today, but the muscles felt tense and trembled under her touch. Cora’s heart was beating faster than usual, but her lungs sounded alright. 

That was a relief. The strong influenza strain was an ever-present threat that had already killed thousands, if not millions. She had learned not to trust the numbers the government put out every day. 

"Have you been eating?" She asked distractedly, still feeling Cora’s belly. 

"Eatin'? Nah, wee Johnny can't carry much weight, and I haven't been able to go out the past week, with all the -" she cut herself off, but Amelia encouraged her. "Sickness. I was really sick, lady. I can't go to work. I had a fever and all. Haven't tried to eat in three days." 

Amelia stopped her examination.

"Right then." She turned around to the child, who was looking at her with a spark of uncertainty that suited an old man better than him. "Johnny, would you do something for me?"

He nodded. 

"Could you find us a bit of bread and some, uh" Amelia sank her fingers in her pocket. she had exactly two shillings, five pence. "Get her a few potatoes and milk. Don't try and bring too much, only whatever you can carry." She gave the boy one shilling and he seemed impressed by it. Her chest tightened. 

"Is there something wrong?" The woman seemed worried. 

"Not at all. Your child isn't going to be born today. You're hungry." 

Her words were received with a sceptical look. 

"I've gone hungry before, and that's not it..." 

"You are also dehy- thirsty. That is why I am going to leave soup for you, but first I'll make tea and you will drink it. We have about two weeks before this baby comes and I need you to be stronger than you're now. If you've been sick these days, you need this. You will feel better, I promise." 

The woman smiled for the first time, showing three missing teeth. Amelia Steele's herself for what she knew would be a war conversation. 

"You'd think I would know by now, huh? What's like to be hungry. I had a husband and an older son before the war. Now it's just me and Johnny, and a woman has to make a living somehow. But it doesn't always pay well, or enough."

Amelia pursed her lips. Some of the tired rage that always accompanied her bubbled too close to the surface, and she closed her left hand into a fist. Her stomach had felt weird since she'd entered that room, and now it gave an uncomfortable lurch. If she could finish the appointment with Cora, she'd be able to breathe the cold air outside and not feel so… suffocated.

She glimpsed through the window. The small patch of grey sky seemed almost white in the morning light. 

_ Pull yourself together,  _ she thought. 

"I'm sorry", she managed to say through gritted teeth. 

"'Tis alright. Not many of us can do anything else 'round here. I was afraid nobody would come." 

"Why?" Amelia stood up, filled a pot with dubious water from a bucket under the sink, both to distract herself and start preparing the meal. Thank God she was going to boil it. 

"This is Watery Lane, nurse. I've tried before and got no answer." 

Amelia didn't question it. Most of her friends at Brighid House, maybe even Camilla, they would think twice. Finding she had no answer to give, she waited in companionable silence until the water boiled and cooled enough for her to throw the tea leaves inside two cups and fill them.

"I've got nothing to sweeten it with," Cora said, defensiveness lacing her tone. Amelia shrugged. The warmth between her fingers comforted her. 

They sipped their drinks and waited for Johnny to come back. When he did, she did not waste any time. Resources were scarce; the potatoes were small and she had little else, only two onions and the bread. 

She threw everything inside a large pot and put it to boil once more. 

"Pay attention now, Cora dear: you need to drink water. Lots of it. If you drink spirits, make sure to drink double the amount of water afterwards, but try and avoid those for the remainder of your pregnancy. Just always, always make sure to boil the water first. Here's bread, there's the soup almost ready. I'll see you in three days but don't be afraid to send Johnny if you need me before that. I'll come, I promise." 

Once she was sure Cora would indeed call on her if necessary, she allowed Johnny to accompany her outside the flat. 

The boy opened the door for her and she climbed on her bike, deftly manoeuvring it to avoid puddles. The rain had stopped now, the sun peeking shyly through the clouds. The men of her second appointment were waiting for her at a nearby pub, the Garrison, and she was running a bit late. She breathed as if she had been underwater, racing along the streets and already feeling better. 

Amelia left the vehicle at the entrance of the pub and stepped through the doors. The place wasn't impressive. The chairs had been mended more times than it was good for the wood itself, the tables had splinters and long marks -knives, she thought- over the surfaces, and the floor was a bit of a sticky mess. Still, the bar was spotless and she could see several bottles of good whiskey glinting in the sunlight that now poured through the windows. The smell of cigarette overpowered everything in the room. Suddenly needing to smoke, Amelia fished one out of her secret stash. Nurses weren't allowed to smoke during work hours, but who could snitch on her in this place?

"Hello!" She called before sitting at the end of the bar. She heard heavy steps hurrying towards her. 

"Miss! Didn't see you there. What can I help you with?" A tall man greeted her, his voice gruff despite the kind words. Broad-shouldered and with a sharp glint in his eyes, he took in her uniform and straightened his back. 

"I got a message, saying two men would be waiting for me to- 

Suddenly, the glass on the door exploded into a million pieces. Three men barreled inside, punching each other and grunting in pain and rage. One of them grabbed a chair, ready to strike whoever was closer to him when out of nowhere, the owner of the Garrison took out a shotgun from underneath the bat.

"I will shoot!" He yelled over the cacophony but there seemed to be no results. The other three kept hitting each other, harder and pointing at the soft parts. Amelia shot the bartender a warning look and jumped from her chair towards the men before he could stop her. 

"SOLDIERS! Stop this at once!" She yelled with her sternest intonation. 

One of them saw her and obeyed out of instinct, but when she stepped near the other two to physically separate them, she got the hard part of an elbow right on the side of her head. 

Amelia lost her balance and fell on the ground, the sharp pieces of torn glass cutting through the fabric of the dress and into the skin of her shoulder and thigh. She winced when her head smacked against the wooden floor. Her ears were ringing. 

She lay there for a moment, trying to catch her breath, knowing what was coming and unable to stop it before it trapped her. In a split second, she could feel the mud of France around her again, drowning her along with the deafening explosion of shells only a few meters away.

_ The war is over _ ! Her head was screaming. 

_ One, two, three, for, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten... _

She forced her lungs to slow down, managing to somewhat tame the wave of panic rising in her chest like vomit. 

The loud ringing subsided to a barely-there noise. The Garrison was silent, but it wasn't a good omen. Her mouth tasted like iron. 

She moved her arms carefully, assessing the damage and still dazed. Nothing was broken. 

Slowly, like stepping out of a dream, she sat up. 

"Miss! Are you alright?" A young man with a split lip was speaking to her, spraying blood and saliva everywhere. Amelia raised her head, wincing from the effort. 

"I'm-

Then she saw him, sitting right beside the one who’d spoken, holding a handkerchief on his forehead and bleeding profusely from a wound. The silky shine of the handkerchief was quickly being dulled by the crimson of his blood. He had a handsome face, still a bit child-like despite his fancy clothes and the gun he carried right beside his heart. 

But that wasn't what she saw. When he lifted his head, his dark blue eyes flashed in recognition and he scrambled backwards, white as a sheet, the bleeding forehead forgotten. 

She didn't stand a chance against the second wave of memories that took over her brain. 

The mud. The screaming. The blood. __

_ I need to get him out _ .

With a sharp movement Amelia lurched forward, dragging her body over the shattered glass without realizing it. She tried to grab his hand and take him with her, but it proved too much and he kept getting away from her. Her vision blurred, and before she could hit herself against the floor, she felt a pair of hands clutching her shoulders and an urgent whisper in her ear. 

_ "Amelia?" _


	2. You were taught to leave no man behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks!! I realized that editing for actual people to read this story makes my brain ten times pickier. That's why it took a little while for me to post again.   
> Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy it. I used Grammarly to correct everything.   
> Thank you for all the kind things you said about the previous chapter. I re-read the comments when I lose faith in what I want to say with these characters.   
> This is a LONG chapter, and for that, I am sorry. It came out like that, ha!

* * *

Happy are men who yet before they are killed

Can let their veins run cold.

Whom no compassion fleers

Or makes their feet

Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.

Owen Wilfred

* * *

When she came to, Camilla’s face was the first thing she could make out in the foggy haze of her consciousness. Amelia moved her head to the side, but it felt too heavy to do much more than that. 

"You missed lunch", Amelia heard her friend’s whisper and furrowed her brow. 

"What happened?" She groaned. 

Her eyes couldn't focus properly. Every small movement felt like trying to push a ton of bricks away.

"You missed lunch because you tried to stop a fist-fight, ending up with a concussion and glass stuck in your body instead. You did everything I told you not to do in the morning." 

_ What the fuck? _

She tried to force her mind to remember. A pair of blue eyes and a childish face flashed before her closed eyes. 

"John", she muttered with urgency, unable to move more than her fingers. Had she been given morphine? No, it was something stronger than that. Morphine was too difficult to come about. 

"Darling" Camilla's nervous voice snapped her back to reality. "Do you remember where you are?" 

Twinkling bottles of liquor flashed in her mind's eye. 

"A bar..." more snippets of memories came crashing down on her. "Watery Lane… a woman is starving..." she whispered. Her entire left side felt numb, which was scary in itself, and the exhaustion she felt slowed her down. When she tried to sit up, Camilla's hand was quick on her uninjured shoulder. She lied back again.

"Nope, not now. You cannot get up. If you do I might get shot", the barely-there whisper made her quickly open her eyes, adrenaline kicking in at last. It took a moment for her vision to focus, but thankfully the room wasn’t too bright. The ceiling's paint was peeling off near the brick wall. She couldn’t move her head to see more. 

"Camilla. Speak. Now", she said, clearly this time. Her mouth felt as if it were full of cotton. 

"We're in a betting… uh, they have a betting parlour… for racehorses.  This is literally the worst possible scenario for your first day here. Please, please recover. It's the  _ Shelby's”,  _ she finished with a low whisper. 

_ What the fuck? _

"She means you need to tell her if she has broken bones...but I see you know my family too", said a deep voice to her right. Slowly, trying not to pass out again but feeling like she might at any moment, Amelia glanced in that direction. 

It was him. 

She closed her eyes and felt fear rising slowly once more, her heartbeat quickening. 

"N-no broken bones! Amy, you were very lucky. After a good night's rest, you will be good as new, but we can't risk moving you more than what we already have. We're very grateful to you, Mr Shelby."

"Where the fuck am I?" She snapped. 

Camilla clicked her tongue. Before she could answer, Amelia heard his voice again. 

"In my family's house. We brought you here because it was closer and better than anywhere else." 

She pursed her lips for a moment. Her thoughts were sluggish, almost as if they had to trudge through mud to reach her. She knew, however, one thing: if she remained there, things would get complicated. 

"Fuck it then- let’s go back to Brighid’s House", she tried to sound imposing, but it came out almost like a whimper. She hated herself.

Amelia tried to move again but the dizziness became stronger and her vision blurred. 

"What? No, Ames, why do you think I came here? I'm not to leave your side. Sister Mary says...."

Then everything became black one more time. 

* * *

_ Relentless, cursed rain fell on her, chilling her to the bone. Amelia half crawled, half walked amongst the mud and corpses, trying to rescue the ones they could save with their very limited resources. She could hear soldiers moaning and crying nearby, but they couldn't carry too many in their vehicle.  _

_ The ambulance was only a few yards behind her, but the risk of getting killed by some furious German soldier was always at the back of her mind. _

_ She heard the shots before understanding what followed.  _

_ Somebody screamed a curse in English. Then, a splash on the mud. She trudged faster through it, mouth firmly closed against her teeth. She wouldn't get fucking killed in the aftermath of the battle.  _

_ There was an Englishman there, fallen against a German soldier. He was whimpering, burying his bayonet deep into the German's head over and over again. Blood flowed from his left leg and the side of his face, the crimson droplets making a stark contrast against the dead man's white skin. Keeping her head low to avoid alerting more enemies, she got to him and grabbed his shoulders forcefully.  _

_ When he turned his head, she saw that his blue eyes were wide with fear.  _

_ "We've got to go. Come now, hold onto me," she whispered, passing his arm over her shoulder. He obeyed almost in a child-like manner, his gaze trying to find hers.  _

_ 'Quickly!' she said, hearing the clamour from the nearby German trenches. Another attack was about to begin, and if she didn't hurry, they would be caught in the middle of it.  _

_ "My brothers...." He whispered in her ear.  _

_ "They'll be fine. I promise you they are safe and sound."  _

_ His hand closed on her shoulder, the pressure hurting her.  _

_ "I need to be with them."  _

_ Amelia didn't answer but kept pushing on. A grenade exploded barely ten feet away, hitting them with a rain of mud. She looked up to the ambulance. Edith was at the wheel, her eyes urging her to move faster, though no sounds escaped her lips. Behind, three wounded soldiers awaited for her to arrive. _

_ A machine gun started firing off and she fought against the mud with all her might.  _

_ "Let him go and come! If we get caught here we're as good as dead!!! Come here!!" Edith's sudden shrieks didn't make her will waver. Urging the man at her side they finally reached the ambulance and she all but dropped him at the back, jumping towards the front. Edith started the engine and the vehicle lurched forward. The attacks hadn’t been answered to yet, but they were an easy target. They had to get out and tend to the wounded that would surely be flooding the hospital by the end of the day.  _

_ They had done but twenty feet when another round of fire caught them. Amelia lowered her head and felt the bullets whistle over her head, raising goosebumps along her arms. When she looked up, Edith's glassy eyes were fixed on her, her jaw slack and her mouth hanging open, like a marionette with the strings cut. Blood and brain tissue oozed from her forehead, and the ambulance lurched dangerously to the side.  _

* * *

Amelia woke up with a gasp, her heart thundering against her ribcage like a trapped bird. 

Her head, however, felt distinctly better. 

She was laying on a sofa, one too soft for her aching back. The blanket that covered her was old and the colours had somewhat faded, but it was thick enough that added to the fire burning at her left, sweat was beginning to form on her forehead. 

“It’s a good thing you’re awake”, said a male voice to her right. With a mighty effort, Amelia sat up enough to peek over the sofa's back, feeling nauseous. “It’s not so good that you’re moving this much”, he added pointedly. 

She remained silent, her eyes going over his figure. He was sitting on a chair that looked comfortable enough for a man to sleep in, dressed in a crisp white shirt, striped blue pants held by suspenders, and black shoes polished to perfection. 

Even after four years, his face remained the same mixture of childish features and haunted eyes that she remembered. His clothing was too expensive for the room he was in. 

“Hello, John Shelby”, she said with a sigh. She didn't feel the need to run from him this time. The scene was almost surreal...and she couldn't go anywhere either way. Camilla was curled up on a smaller sofa, sleeping soundly, and Amelia would not leave her here. She thanked God that her friend was a heavy sleeper. 

John gave her a brief, cold smile and stood up, disappearing into another room. Seconds later, the smell of warm bread, tea, ham and butter wafted to her nose and she inhaled deeply. Her stomach grumbled. All she’d had to eat that long, terrible and overall bad day was a biscuit and two cups of bitter tea, she noticed without surprise. 

He crossed the room and sat down at the other end of the sofa. Amelia couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. She feared, just for a moment, that she was still dreaming and that she would wake up in… better not to dwell on that.

“The nurse said you'd be hungry.”

He placed the tray he had been carrying on a small table and made a sweeping gesture over it. Amelia’s mouth watered and she reached for the bread. 

“... You made this?" She started eating as slowly as she could, trying to muffle the doubts creeping about in her mind. The bread was incredibly delicious. 

The silence was uncomfortable, but what could she say? That she had all but forgotten about him once she reached England? It wasn't true. But at the moment there had been… urgent matters to solve. Matters that she couldn't be dwelling in ever again. And afterwards...

_ All that is done.  _

The silence only lasted a few minutes. 

“You disappeared”, he stated, his gaze intent on hers. 

Amelia swallowed and took a sip of tea, this time with both milk and honey in it. 

Her eyes cast down, she could feel the tightening in her chest, and her mind resisting the urge to go back to the past. 

“Not intentionally”, she said at last. “I tried to stay longer, but the flu started and… well, I was taken to another hospital.”

“You didn’t let me know. I thought you’d gone and killed yourself on the field.” 

She gasped, surprised to hear those words. 

“I left the senior nurse a note for you-

“Germans caught her with a shotgun the next day. She went too close to their fucking trenches. They never cared for the ambulances in the first place, eh?” 

His voice was cold and detached, as if the memories weren’t his own.

Amelia could feel her chest tightening even more. 

She hadn’t known that. 

“I...got it. The deadly flu, I mean. I got it in spring. I had to spend three weeks in another hospital recovering, and then- I was sent home. Things got… well. Complicated.”

He lowered his head.

They’d been such good friends while he recovered. He had told her about his family, about the brother that wanted to take care of horses, the little sister that was too pretty for her own good, the childhood spent on the road with other families, his wife and children. She’d found everything fascinating, and in turn, she had spoken about her life before France.

It all felt like a dream that did not belong to her, those few hours of friendship.

“When I saw you today, I thought you were a ghost. Couldn’t believe my bloody eyes, Amelia.” 

Her own eyes prickled furiously but no tears came to fill them. She had probably lost the ability to cry somewhere in France, or afterwards when she had decided to live with the St. Brigid's Sisters. 

“I am sorry”, her words were partially interrupted by the entrance opening and closing. John stood up. 

“Tommy! Something came up while you were gone.”

John pointed at her, and she saw another man enter the room. He also had refined clothing, but his gaze was obscured by the beret he had over his head. 

Amelia had the eerie feeling that he could see her through it. 

“Don’t we have enough fucking problems already?” 

When he raised his eyes to follow John’s finger, he caught her staring. His eyes were an icy blue, big and a bit watery, as if the cold weather had almost filled them with tears. They made a strange contrast with the pale hue of his face and the carefully neutral expression in it. He examined her for a moment before taking out a cigarette and lighting it up.

“Is she a whore that we need to pay? Oh! There's another one there, sleeping as if this were a fucking hotel. What have you done this time? Where did you find them?”

Amelia raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, but John stalked towards his brother, cold rage burning in his face. With a firm gesture, he pointed at her once more. Amelia gathered the blanket around her shoulders, somehow feeling a little too undressed for the situation and still very confused. 

“She saved my fucking life. In France. She’s the reason I’m not buried under the mud of the fucking Somme. Don’t treat her like a whore.” 

She closed her mouth.

Thomas glanced at her again, a calculating glint in his eyes. She knew he could see the Brighid's cross on the coffee table, the swelling of her forehead and the wild mane of curls that her head had become. The ash of the cigarette fell to the floor and he didn't seem to notice. In a split second, she made a decision. 

“My name’s Amelia Flannery. Please, don’t wake up Camilla. She would scare herself to death I’m afraid”, she whispered. 

“Why?” questioned the older brother. His shoulders were straight and tense, and she knew he had fought in the war as well. He didn't smile. 

Despite herself, Amelia smirked. 

“She does fear the Peaky Blinders, but that’s not it. I think she would be too embarrassed to be seen with two men that she doesn’t know, in a room she shouldn’t be sleeping in.”

John chuckled and Thomas's mouth quirked imperceptibly for a split second. 

“To my office, John", he said without a trace of the previous amusement in his tone.

Maybe she had imagined it.

“Sleep for a bit. I’ll come back later”, said John reassuringly. 

Amelia found it odd that Thomas spoke to his younger brother like a boss might talk to an employee. 

Which brother was this? John hadn’t said any names when talking about them in France, but she remembered that the oldest one was a man with a volatile nature, followed by another, who always seemed to be smiling. 

This had to be the oldest of them, then.

Knowing that an easy way out of that situation was impossible, Amelia abandoned the food and the tea. Her head started pounding, so she lied down to contain the incipient migraine. She hadn't been planning on sleeping, but when her head hit the pillow she was lost to the world.

She woke up to the pearly light of dawn seeping in through the translucent curtains. The first whispers of movement and people rising from their beds could be heard. The worst had passed. The headache had diminished to a dull throbbing that wouldn’t give her too much trouble. Still, she would have to be very careful not to do anything that might cause her another accident, or the consequences could be unpredictable. 

Amelia sat up slowly, noticing that Camilla was not sleeping anymore. 

She realized only then that someone had put a nightdress on her, and that her shoulder and hip were bandaged tightly. What was she on that she hadn't woken up during  _ that _ process?

“Mr Shelby offered to give us a ride to the house, in his car. As I told you, you cannot refuse or argue with any of these men, so off with us.”

Camilla’s voice was tense and startled her. 

“John’s - was, my friend, he wouldn’t treat us badly", she said. A scoff was her only answer. Camilla was helping her to stand up when Thomas appeared and spoke in hushed tones with her. Seconds later, she was gone from the room and Amelia was alone with the leader of the family. She wasn’t scared, but rather amused. He was clearly trying to intimidate her, unaware of much practice she’d had with people just like him. 

He was hatless this time. He had a severe haircut, the same kind John had, and the chain of a golden clock hung from his pocket. 

He was strangely handsome, she thought. John had his charm, with that easy smile and the good nature of his temper - even if sometimes a bit reckless. 

This Shelby, however… there was something dark about him, but he had the kind of face that, had she met him before France, she would’ve swooned over. Amelia noticed they were staring at each other and she decided not to surrender to the tension in the room. She sat back down. Noticing that her nightdress wasn’t precisely a thick one, she covered herself with the blanket and waited in silence. 

His eyes kept going up and down her body as if trying to reach a conclusion about her origins, her intentions and her importance in his family. 

It was something hard to do, considering she was wearing someone else’s nightgown and half her face was bruised. 

Finally, he spoke. 

“I sent your friend to your house, or the congregation, wherever you live. You and I need to talk.” 

_ What?  _

Amelia bristled. 

“Does a woman have time to change before the big event?” she asked, unable to keep the dryness in her tone from showing. He blinked twice, obviously surprised by her response. 

“Get off her back, Tommy”, another woman stepped inside the room, rolling her eyes at him.

She went to Amelia and stretched her hand. “Name’s Polly Gray. I helped your friend take the glass out of your body.”

Amelia blinked. 

“Sorry for all the trouble. Didn’t mean to get elbowed in the face in some bar fight, but here we are”, she said. Polly smiled. She was carrying a Black Madonna around her neck. 

_ A gipsy, then. _

So that’s why John always mentioned ‘the road’, as his childhood home. 

An old prejudice prickled at her heart, but it vanished as fast as it had come. Nothing was the same as...it was before. The world had changed and with it everything she once believed in. 

“No trouble at all. I have more problems with the men here than with you”, Polly said amiably, the smile contradicting the severe lines around her mouth. Thomas let out an exasperated sigh and turned to leave. When he reached the door frame, he turned back and looked at her with the same neutral expression she had seen before. 

“As soon as you’re finished with Polly, you will come and talk with me. I’ll be waiting.”

With a final nod to the woman, he left. He wasn’t expecting an answer and she wouldn’t give him one, but it bothered her that he thought she didn’t have anything to say. 

“Sorry about him. He has lost any sense of civility he once had.” 

Amelia lowered her gaze. Was Camilla gone? 

Her eyes roamed about the room. If she had to escape, the window to the left was a good choice. She thanked God that the house wasn’t on the third floor. Her injuries would slow her down a bit, but with all the food in her stomach, she reckoned she could run at least a few miles or hide somewhere. 

She came back to reality with a start. No. This wasn’t France, she didn’t need to be looking for escape routes. She’d be fine. She was in England. She knew all about gangs. She could manage. She knew  _ John _ . 

“We won’t hurt you, you know.”

Amelia felt the heat rising to her cheeks and smiled apologetically. 

“I know. I just wonder why Camilla has left without me. It wasn’t the plan.”

Polly sat down in front of her. Her hazel eyes had a cunning look that couldn’t possibly go unnoticed by anyone confronted with her imposing presence.

“The only thing keeping her here was you, and when Tommy ordered her to go, she did as she was told. You’d do well to follow her line of behaviour.”

Amelia pursed her lips. She wouldn’t openly disagree with her, but surely Camilla wouldn’t abandon her like that without a good explanation, no matter what they thought about her. Thomas  _ had  _ threatened her with something. 

Besides, she wasn’t the kind to obey orders just because a man gave them. 

Still, the tension she felt rising inside her was making her jittery.

“What are you to John?” Polly suddenly asked, lighting a dark cigarette. Amelia found a better position on the couch. She was still in a borrowed nightdress, but she wasn’t about to be intimidated by anyone. 

She was at home. This wasn’t France.  _ The war was over _ . 

Even though her brain was aware of it, her lurching stomach didn’t seem to agree. It wasn’t nausea, not really… it was just… how could she put a name to it? It was like having a knot being tightened every few seconds, shortening her breath against her will.

“We don’t have a romantic relationship”, she said finally, staring out the window and blocking the memories as best as she could. It was true, at least in the sense they were asking about. Her chest tightened a bit more. “We’ve always been friends.”

Polly chuckled, obviously not believing her. 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me, but I assure you that Thomas won’t be as merciful as I am. Women like you tend to avoid the Garrison at all costs. It damages one’s reputation in the higher circles.” 

This incessant stream of questions, made in a tone that implied suspicion and willingness to go further than whatever was decent to obtain answers, made her furious.

“What kind of woman am I, then?” She spat. 

The door opened again. 

“I’ve waited enough. She will speak to me”, declared Thomas, with a pointed stare towards them. Polly stood up and left, not before giving her a resigned look. 

“I repeat: can a woman get changed or does every interrogation happen in undergarments here?” 

She asked, the fury now slipping past her control. She struggled to remain calm, digging her nails into the palm of her hand. It was crucial to keep her mind working fast. 

There was a moment of silence. He seemed to have problems controlling his temper as well. 

“Two minutes,” he said at last, loudly closing the door on his way out. 

Her dress was folded neatly on a chair, along with her bag. Glancing around her to make sure nobody was watching, she put it on. It smelled of sweat and blood, and she feared it was stained beyond remedy. The shoulder was definitely torn and irreparable. Sighing, she opened the bag to find her pistol gone. A cold dread settled behind her neck and down her back. 

_ Who’s been looking through my things? _

She needed that pistol. Her chest tightened again, making it almost impossible to breathe. Cold sweat appeared on her forehead.

_ They took my gun.  _

The anxiety inside her rose a bit, and her knees started to tremble. 

_ I need my pistol.  _

Amelia forced herself to remain in the present, but the images behind her eyes weren’t exactly obeying her desperate command. 

She glanced at the clock. A minute after six in the morning.

Struggling to keep her breathing even, she directed her steps towards the door where she had seen Thomas Shelby disappear. Her hands started to tingle and became numb. 

_ I’m home,  _ she thought desperately.  _ The war’s over.  _

Like trapped inside a nightmare, Amelia walked past an ample room with several desks, all of them full of papers, wide blackboards with scribbled numbers in messy handwriting, and chairs thrown casually around. 

A betting house then, and evidently not a legal one, noticed some rational part of her brain. Thank God there were streams of sunlight entering through the badly boarded windows, or she would’ve lost it already. 

The door at the end opened and Thomas Shelby made a gesture to invite her in. It wasn’t polite. 

Amelia had no choice and no gun, so she obeyed. The office was small, badly lit and it smelled of whiskey and cigarette smoke. The nausea came back. 

“My aunt Polly asked a question you didn’t want to answer. I ask you the same”, he punctuated the next words with the tip of a pencil against the wooden desk. “What.Are.You.To.My.Brother?”

The rushing in her ears was becoming stronger, but she fought against it with all her might. This never happened during the day. It couldn't happen now of all times. She crossed her arms but there seemed to be no comforting heat in her skin. 

She could feel the place between her shoulders tensing up beyond any measure, and her entire left arm felt full of pricks and needles. 

Perhaps she wouldn’t need to keep her wits for too much longer, because she was most definitely dying in that room that felt like a fucking coffin. She fell on her chair, visibly pale and without being invited to. 

“I -” she choked on her own words. Thomas furrowed his brow. “I met him in France”, she managed to say, breathlessly. Her good hand flew to her chest, where she closed it in a fist. The pain rose up and made her bite the inside of her cheeks. Tasting blood, she continued. “I rescued him the day a german shot him in the leg.” 

_ Fucking fuck, shit, I’m dying.  _

She closed her eyes and felt her desperately beating heart.

She couldn’t breathe. 

Like the echo of a whisper from another world, Thomas’ words registered somewhere in her agonizing brain. 

“Amelia? Amelia Flannery?” 

She realized her head was hanging over her chest and tried to correct her position, but her chest was hurting too much. 

She had to get out. 

Suddenly standing up, Amelia felt her legs give out and fell forward, clutching her neck. A strong pair of arms caught her and her vision was invaded by Thomas’ Shelby face, merely inches away from hers. 

"Get...out", she tried to explain.

Her nails dug into the skin of her neck, drawing blood.

Thomas muttered a curse and picked up her shaking body, running across the betting parlour and into the well- lit living room. He deposited her on the sofa she'd been lying on all-night. His knees touched the floor with a soft thud immediately after. His hand found hers and gripped it firmly. It provided a good spot for her attention and she focused on it. He had long, calloused fingers.  _ Shelby fingers _ . John’s had been very similar that one time they’d been stranded in France. Perhaps she was still stranded there after all.

Perhaps she’d never gone back to England, not really. 

"Stay with me” Thomas whispered, his voice suddenly smooth and low. Amelia was drowning in herself now, her eyes red but dry. Why couldn’t she be normal and just cry? What had happened to all her tears? “Amelia, focus.” 

_ The Germans will come any minute now. We’ll die. I’ll be raped first. _

His hand squeezed hers again, a short moment of pressure that got her out of the literal trenches in her mind. She breathed through the pain in her chest, forcing her lungs to take in air and exhale it slowly. 

Slowly, she realized that the soft ground underneath her was nothing but the sofa, and the blanket she had slept cocooned in all night. 

The migraine had blossomed and pulsated between her eyebrows, but her lungs weren’t burning anymore. 

She took another deep breath, ashamed of herself. She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she closed them. His hand was still in hers. 

This  _ never  _ happened during the day. 

“Amelia? Can you hear me?” 

His voice was very close, the depth of it catching her attention. She nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment. 

“Do you want a cigarette?" 

The question, so out of place in such a context, made her chuckle painfully. Yet, he had gotten  _ that _ right. She needed to smoke one, or several cigaretes. 

Amelia nodded again, still not opening her eyes. Her free hand snaked over the blanket, feeling its ridges and textures. Another real, tangible thing that proved that the body she was in was indeed hers, that the Germans were hopefully far away from her. He let go of her in favour of noisily opening the container of his cigarettes. 

_ Fuck. _ It felt like that was the only word she had been thinking for the past two days. 

_ Now you've done it, Amelia Flannery. Now you've fucking done it.  _

She stayed like that for a moment, breathing as deeply as she could, her fist closed over the blanket, every single stitch in it leaving its mark into her skin.

At last, feeling like she wouldn't immediately vomit upon moving, she sat up. 

The coffee table in front of her had a cigarette. She took it and Thomas lit it for her before taking several steps back. The first drag she took was deep and shaky. Amelia felt as if her soul was back into place after that one, and proceeded to take three more in silence. Thomas’ eyes were the only thing that betrayed his curiosity, staring at her, unmoving like those of a statue, or a feline. 

Amelia sighed, putting her head between her hands. She felt weak and fragile, like a rope that had been pulled too tight for a long time, bound to snap sooner or later. 

Without waiting for his questions, she spoke of the circumstances in which she'd met John. Nothing too specific, but more than she wanted to say. More than she wanted to remember. 

Thomas lit his cigarette and sat in front of her, obviously not eager to go back to his office and have her breaking down in front of him again. 

"Did you two fuck?" He asked finally. 

Amelia's mouth fell open. For a second, indignation consumed her, but then the hilarious aspect of her situation crashed down on her and she started laughing. He didn't follow, and she made a great effort to stop. When the giggles subsided, she spoke. 

"I don't normally answer such questions, and I'm sure you know this is not your business. You have some courage, using that word in front of me. I am a woman, remember?" 

He shrugged nonchalantly. 

"You've said fuck here more times than I can count. I need to know because I've got matters to attend and if you are interfering it could be… dangerous." 

She sighed deeply, not even starting to question the fact that he had matters to attend to about John, and that it had something to do with fucking. 

"No, Thomas Shelby. We did not  _ fuck. _ I wasn't a fucking  _ whore _ , I was a nurse. A Royal Nurse. And no, I don't think John and I will  _ fuck _ any time soon either. He only ever spoke about his wife and kids, and  _ fucking _ isn't on my agenda, nor was it in France. He's my friend...or was." 

She imprinted the words with as much sarcasm as she could, but it didn't do much. 

Thomas looked out the window, seemingly deep in thought. 

"Why did you have a gun in your bag?" He said, this time placing his hand near his pistol. She frowned, angry at his renewed attempt at intimidating the truth out of her. 

"Give it back. It's got nothing to do with you. I've answered the important questions, I want to go home." 

"Not really" he grinned. "You are a nurse that I have never seen before around here, with a gun inside her bag of  _ medical supplies _ , stepping into a fight at the Garrison when it was closed to the public and getting herself knocked out in the process, that incidentally  _ knows my brother."  _

His voice was cold as ice and he was now inclined in front of her, his face inches away and with a glint of madness that chilled her to the bones. 

But her fury was more powerful than whatever fear she might have, and she stood up as well, her eyes fixed on his without blinking. 

"Well, get your facts straight before drawing the wrong conclusions and threatening me. I am a nurse and a midwife, volunteering with the Catholic Church, more precisely with the Sisters of St. Brigid of Kildare. People send messages to us asking for help, and we give it. Thanks to you and other gangsters, many here are afraid to call us and accidentally getting us robbed or raped. Fortunately, I always have a gun with me to prevent those things, so I was the only one stupid enough to come even with my friends warning me against it." 

She pointed at him, her anger getting out of control. "I will continue coming, with or without your  _ fucking _ permission, because people are sick and need my help, and you’re not the boss of me." 

When she finished her little speech he didn't speak or back down. Something took over her then, a strange feeling of foreboding that compelled her to speak again. "Be warned, Thomas Shelby: you will need me before this month is over." 

There was a flash of superstitious fear in his eyes at her last words, and he turned around. He opened a drawer and took her gun out. When he was in front of her again, one of her hands took hers, placing the cold metal against it. 

"As I said before. Not a lady. I will drive you to the house then.” 

His tone was calm, even casual. 

“Will you give me trouble if I come here again?” She asked, putting the gun inside her bag again, where it belonged. The knot of anxiety in her stomach loosened at last. She was so bloody tired. So dirty, so filled with pain she could barely think straight. 

He shook his head. 

Finally, she could breathe again. Mustering a sad smile, she spoke. 

“Thank you. For taking care of me. I was waiting for two men at the Garrison, two men that placed a call. I stopped the fight out of instinct.”

There was a pause in his movements. 

“John did. Took care of you, I mean.” 

Amelia nodded and followed him outside. The cold and the smoke received her, like a slap to the face after being warm for so many hours. She tightened the scarf around her neck. 

When he dropped her at the house, sister Mary was at the door. Her small yet imposing frame seemed even more threatening than usual, and Amelia shrank in her seat. Shelby sent her a puzzled look before getting out of the car. With a sigh, she did the same. 

“Good morning, sister” she whispered, her eyes downcast and hands inside her pockets. 

“Amelia Flannery. Camilla told me about your...special situation yesterday at Small Heath.” 

She remained quiet. 

“Now sister, if I may-

“You may not, Mr Shelby”, sister Mary cut him off. He was reduced to stunned silence, his mouth closing in a tight line and eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t have to tell you the kind of transgression this is, Miss Flannery. You will take poor Camilla’s shifts for the remainder of the week. She needs rest.”

She didn’t have enough fire in her heart to argue with the senior sister, so she nodded. At her side, Thomas Shelby seemed to be frozen. 

“Very well then. Take today off, so you might rest that shoulder, but tomorrow I want you up by six-thirty. If you arrive late to breakfast again, I shall make sure your friend cannot steal any drink or food from our cupboard before you have to go. Do I make myself clear?”

Amelia nodded again. “Now, off with you.”

With a glance and the ghost of a smile to the Shelby brother at her side, she entered the building. 

Even though her orders were to stay in her bedroom, it did not mean she couldn’t spy… just a little bit. Just for her personal amusement. She wanted to see Thomas’ Shelby face when sister Mary verbally ripped him apart. 

So, checking to see that nobody was around, she set to watch the scene through the window. 

Even though Thomas wasn’t exactly small-sized, he seemed to shrink on himself when sister Mary crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Risking the scolding of her life, she dared to open the window a few millimetres to hear their conversation. 

“Hello now, Mr Shelby. I’ve heard terrible things about the likes of you. What exactly did you do to her?” 

He reeled, his eyes blinking quickly. Amelia suppressed a laugh. 

“To her? We probably saved her life”, he replied indignantly. 

Sister mary scoffed at his words. 

“Listen to me, young man”, the woman started. Amelia knew that nobody had called Thomas a young man in a very, very long time. “She is under my protection, with the added help of God himself. Keep your hands away from Amelia Flannery, let her do her job in peace, and perhaps there will be redemption ahead of you yet. Now, why was she in danger in the first place?” 

Even though he seemed exasperated beyond measure, he sighed, opened his little cigarette case and lit one up before answering. Amelia was having the time of her life. 

“According to your other… nurse, Camilla Baker, two men had asked for drugs to sleep. I know for a fact that those two men wanted to rob her and maybe more if they had the opportunity.”

Suddenly, all her mirth was gone. So she had been in danger, but not from the people she thought. 

“And how exactly do you know that?” The sister was glaring at him. 

“ I know because they were going over their strategy when my brother John heard them. We don’t like rappers in our area, sister. It doesn’t speak well of us. So John followed them inside the Garrison and reminded them of the rules. Nobody knew Miss Flannery was inside, already waiting. The elbow was just an accident.”

She was moved. Now that so many women were forced to walk around alone, the police had proven to be utterly useless. Cases of abuse were normal beyond the confines of bad husbands and shitty neighbours. 

Thomas squirmed and Amelia knew he was being handed the murderous stare of sister Mary. 

“What of the rappers, then?” asked the sister. 

“Taken care of. The lesson was learned", he reassured her. 

Amelia stared, carefully looking for anything that might tell on him. 

“Good” sister Mary replied at length. “Make sure it stays like that. Amelia is the only one willing to go to Small Heath, and people have been needing us for too long without getting any answers.”Thomas nodded. “Off with you then.” 

He nodded once and turn around to leave, catching her looking. Amelia felt as if under the scrutiny of a microscope. She made an imperceptible gesture of the hand and he bowed his head. With that, he was gone.


	3. The Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! :) Thank you for forty (40!!) Kudos. I am very happy!! 
> 
> I never know what to put on the chapter summary, btw.   
> This one might feel like a filler, but I promise it is important to the plot ;) 
> 
> As usual, I edited with Grammarly but feel free to point out mistakes. I like it better when you say nice things, tho :D

* * *

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old lie: _Dulce et decorum est_ _pro Patria mori_ _._

Wilfred Owen

* * *

Two weeks went by before she saw the Shelby's again. Amelia worked long hours, slept whenever and however she could, and was constantly bothered by Camilla to eat better. She had met the only doctor in the neighbourhood, an old man that insisted on wearing victorian suits and still believed in bloodletting to reduce nausea. 

They did not get along, but sometimes circumstances forced them to work together. 

The people of Small Heath were finally starting to feel confident enough to trust that, should they call Brigid’s House, someone would be there to help them. Unfortunately, her small success did not have any effect on the other nurses, who continued to refuse the neighbourhood and its inhabitants.

So, when Sister Mary waved a little piece of paper in front of her face, she wasn’t surprised. 

It was already half-past eight, which meant that all of the nurses and the nuns were in bed.

“You’re needed again. One of your patients, Cora, is about to give birth. Watery Lane.”

Amelia nodded, closing her fingers around the small note. Camilla gasped at her side, dropping some of the hairpins she was holding between her lips. 

“But, sister! She almost died the last time she went there! That’s the street where- 

“It's alright Camilla I will be especially careful. Besides, I know who called. She isn’t dangerous", said Amelia, stretching her shoulders before putting on her shoes and the thickest dress she could find. "I thought she would call me before that. Everything’s been going well, then." 

“Do you need any help?” Camilla asked, worried. “It doesn’t mean I will  _ always  _ go there, but just for tonight...”

Amelia gave her a resigned smile. 

“No need for you to come. You can sleep in peace. Thank you, sister Mary. I'll be down in two minutes."

Camilla did not seem convinced, but Sister Mary nodded. 

"Very well. You'll be going with Charles in the car, so no need for you to bike this late." 

Amelia frowned. 

“Are you sure that is safe? There could be-

“Everything has been arranged.” 

When the mother superior left, Amelia finished getting ready with her friend's pointed stare burning at the back of her neck. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” She finally asked. 

“Yes. Cora was nothing but nice to me, and the baby was in perfect health. I think Dr Sheppard will be there to command everything, along with the neighbourhood midwife.” 

She left the bedroom quietly, marvelling at the silence inside the building. It felt as if she was the only woman in the world. 

Amelia put on her uniform, prepared her bag and checked the bullets inside her Webley. 

The chamber was full. 

She breathed in relief, went outside and ran to the car, wishing for spring and whispering curses under her breath. The sun wouldn't be out for hours and it was bone-chillingly cold. 

Charlie drove her quickly and without his usual small talk, but Amelia was grateful for it. Something about the night, about the thick fog that surrounded them like a white shroud, made her strangely nervous. 

When they got to the beginning of Small Heath, John was there. 

“Mr Shelby said you are allowed to come in”, he joked.

Amelia rolled her eyes and bit the inside of her cheeks instead of giving him the answer burning at the tip of her tongue. 

“Hello, John. Is your brother well?”, she inquired. Some of the sarcasm she was trying to hide slipped into her voice and he laughed. 

“As well as he can be when he isn’t the bloody idiot standing guard outside like a copper.”

“I’ve heard the cold is good for you. Keeps the blood flowing. Perhaps the boss himself would benefit from a few nights standing here like a bloody copper”, she winked. 

At her side, Charlie coughed to conceal his laughter.

John stepped closer and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Don’t go around saying this but my brother’s a fucking wimp when it’s cold like tonight.” 

“A thick scarf would be a good investment instead of a suit then”, she indicated. John gave her a cheeky smile. “Tell him I send my regards.”

He nodded and patted the roof of the car. Charlie continued at his signal. 

The streets were dark and empty, as even the most courageous were inside, trying to keep as warm as possible. Amelia shivered in her seat and longed for a sip of whiskey to take the chill away, knowing that it was unwise. 

Dr Sheppard was waiting for her outside Cora’s house. 

The man, as antiquated as he was in both practice and ideas, had been properly educated. This time he did not even tip his hat in greeting. 

Amelia knew something was very wrong.

***

If someone had asked her afterwards, she couldn't say exactly what had happened after she got inside Cora’s house. It had felt like war but against a different kind of enemy. She had screamed, she had raged and she’d done everything she could...to no avail. 

Twenty-six hours later Amelia emerged from the building, her apron bloodied and her face shiny with sweat. The car wouldn't be there for another five hours, but she couldn't stay another minute inside that miserable flat. 

She decided to smoke at the door, too tired to put the soiled apron and sleeves away. The cigarette fumbled between her trembling fingers, falling to the dirty cobblestones at her feet. Amelia had the urge to scream. Instead, she clenched her jaw until it hurt. 

She needed a drink, and fast. It didn't matter what drink, or with whom. She just needed something to soothe the rage inside her chest before it turned her into a monster.

Putting the Webley inside the pocket of her coat, she walked the two blocks to the Garrison. The steel on her fingers gave her security. 

When she opened the door to the bar, the silence that welcomed her was thick. She looked around and noticed all the eyes on her clothing, realizing too late that she had forgotten to change. With one look at the bartender, a new blonde girl that reacted quicker than her face suggested, she was offered a small washing room where she could finally put the apron away from horrified glances. 

The reflection in the small mirror caught her eyes. She was too pale, the circles under her eyes darker than usual. There was a tension around her mouth, barely an echo of the sorrow she was feeling. Her hair had been under the cap for the entire day, so while the centre was flat, the sides were frizzy. She sighed and spotted the bucket with water. 

Five minutes later, she was ready to be seen again. She re-pinned Brigid’s Cross on her dress, got out and sat at the bar. 

She hadn’t been there before -with the short exception of her accident-, so there were a few surprised glances her way. Then, as if everyone had come to an agreement, they gave her ample space. Amelia knew that they’d heard about Cora. Gossip travelled fast in small Heath. 

"A whiskey, please," she said to the bartender. The woman eyed her carefully. "What's your name?" 

The other woman smiled. 

"Name's Grace. You are the nurse! You were here, two weeks ago? You got beat up right there", Grace pointed at the exact spot. "That is what I heard, at least."

The thick Irish accent made her smile, but she had nothing to answer beside a quick nod of her head. 

Grace gave her a glass of whiskey and Amelia downed it in one gulp. 

"Another, please", she requested. Grace refilled her glass. When the heat of the previous one made her eyes water, she remembered that her stomach was practically empty. “Do you have anything to eat?”

The girl nodded with a smile.

After bringing Amelia the two sandwiches she had made in case she got hungry, Grace stood nearby. 

"What happened? Hard day?" The girl asked.

How could a bartender not know? Everyone had given her pitiful glances, some of them had even gone to tap her shoulder and whisper a few words of consolation as soon as she sat down. How could Grace not  _ know  _ about it? 

Amelia felt it like a knife to her chest. She looked away and chose not to speak anymore. 

She was tired beyond measure, a bone-deep, sticky feeling that never did go away completely, no matter how many hours she managed to actually rest. 

She remembered the screaming, Cora's face unnaturally red, her bright eyes begging her to save her. How every woman around her had started crying while she stood there, holding Cora's hand and looking into her eyes while the light faded from them. 

Fear, resignation, peace. 

The last weak squeeze of her fingers. 

The emptiness.  __

If Amelia had checked on her before, if Cora had sent Johnny… she cut off her thoughts. 

At least she had managed to save the child, a beautiful baby boy named George. Cora's aunt had been there and agreed to take in both of the children, raising them as her own. 

She hoped they could find a better life than their mother had endured.

She was startled by the main door opening and closing. The cold air from outside gave her goosebumps. The Shelby's had entered, already a bit inebriated by the looks of it. 

Amelia turned her head the other way but it was too late. John had already seen her and was practically running towards her, beaming from ear to ear. 

"My favourite nurse!" He screamed, squeezing her into a hug. He smelled of beer and he was exceptionally well dressed. Despite herself, Amelia gave him a tired smile. 

He turned around. "This woman saved my fucking life!! If you bother her you'll pay with blood!" He screamed at the people gathered in the pub. Two men that had been discreetly scooting closer stepped back, their faces pale. Then John turned to Grace. "Whatever she's having, it's on us."

She nodded and Amelia quietly shook her head in her direction. Grace, however, seemed fine with the change in the situation. 

She supposed it  _ was  _ wise not to argue with the local gang boss after all. 

It was then that Thomas approached her, his eyes warmer than the last time she had seen him. He seemed satisfied with something. 

If he wasn’t trying to be intimidating, Amelia thought, he was actually handsome. 

The thought surprised her so much that she quickly tossed it with all the other things lurking at the back of her mind. 

"I didn't think someone like you frequented places like this", he said by way of greeting. A man behind him clapped his shoulder and threw his hand at her to shake it. A bit surprised, she complied. 

"Arthur Shelby, madam. John told me all about you." He lowered his head and squeezed her hand. "A fine job, you did. Brought him back from that hellhole." 

Amelia smiled at his words, her spirits finally lifting after one of the worst days she’d had in Birmingham. 

Arthur and John opened a door that revealed a small room with the best table in the house and they sat down. Thomas stayed behind, ordering the drinks. He seemed relaxed. She sipped a bit of whiskey. The alcohol was finally starting to work on her after devouring the sandwiches, warmth spreading around her stomach at last. 

"You look like a ghost," Thomas said, glancing at her with something akin to playfulness in his eyes. 

Amelia opened her mouth to say something about the wrong way to talk to women, but behind her, the brothers started screaming. 

"Oi! Tommy! Bring the spirits! Bring Amelia too!" John's voice cracked from shouting and Arthur continued while Amelia finished her second glass of whiskey. 

"Yeah! Don't stay chatting with the lady alone! This is a fucking family party!" 

Amelia brought her hands to her face, earning more screams from the seated brothers. 

"Nurse!! There's a wounded man here! He needs-

John's hand closed over Arthur's mouth. 

"Shut up you bastard!" 

Amelia glanced at Thomas, who was rolling his eyes with a small smile playing on his lips. 

"What's the happy occasion?" She inquired. 

Thomas grabbed the glasses that Grace set over the bar. Even without looking, she could feel Grace's stare in the back of her head. She asked for a light beer and the girl nodded. 

"We married John, put an end to a war, and my sister Ada is about to have a baby." 

The reality of her past day came back. Amelia lost the amused smile. Thomas misinterpreted the gesture. 

"If you fancy John, I'm- 

"I do  _ not _ fancy him", she cut off. "We're friends. I didn't know he was a widower, or that he was going to get married. He told me he had a wife already." 

Thomas gestured towards the table. 

"Come with us. We'll tell you all about the ceremony." 

Under his gaze, Amelia couldn't help but wonder what her real choices were. No matter. She would've chosen to sit with people anyways. She needed company to distract her from her misery, or it would take over her mind. She grabbed her own pint and followed him. The brothers screamed a bit more when she sat down. 

"I'm a married man!!" John showed her his palm, where a cut stained his skin with dark red blood. She gasped.

"Are you alright? What happened?" 

"I got married!" 

Amelia realized that he was drunker than he seemed. She laughed. 

"To whom?" 

Arthur beamed at her, his glass empty. Grace came by and refilled everyone's drinks while Amelia found comfort in her beer. The girl sent a shiny smile to Arthur, like a cat that got the cream, and he winked at the woman before she left. Then he spoke. 

"Esme! Cute girl, a bit wild from what we heard. Thing is, now the Lee's will get off our backs- 

"Arthur", Thomas' voice was tinged with a warning. Arthur closed his mouth. "I'm sure the lady here doesn't need to know about that." 

Amelia raised her eyebrow. 

“Oh I’m a lady now?” she teased, knowing it could be dangerous. “What changed since the last time you saw me?”

Thomas opened his mouth.

"Brother, Amelia is- my friend. She knows what we do," John interrupted. He seemed too solemn for the situation, but she appreciated the sentiment. 

Thomas' eyes found hers, bright and clear under the gas lights. 

"Do you now?" He questioned. There was something deeply unsettling in the way his face could change in seconds, how he went from being a normal young man to a gangster. She shrugged, refusing to avert her gaze or feel intimidated. 

She was no innocent maid after all. 

"It's alright. I won't get my nose in your business." She looked at John and took his hand in hers. She could ignore the man’s attempts to intimidate her for the evening. "Are you happy? That's all I care about. You deserve all the happiness in the world  _ and _ some more." 

John stayed silent for a moment, his mouth pursing, his eyes shiny with emotion. After a few seconds, he threw himself over Arthur and embraced her. 

"I'm happy. My kids will have a mother. I have a wife to care for. I'm happy." 

Amelia squeezed his shoulders, smiling. 

"Then I'm glad for you, and give you my congratulations." 

"Thank you", he whispered. Thomas shifted in his seat, watching their exchange with thinly-veiled interest. 

Amelia felt pleasantly light-headed and surprised at the same time. Her tolerance to alcohol had definitely lowered, she thought idly. 

"Why are you here today?" Thomas asked while Arthur and John went for more beers.

Amelia realized he was blocking her way out. She would have to go over him, and if he didn't want to move that would prove difficult. 

"Don’t you know already? I had a bad day.”

She did not want to explain how much she’d failed a good woman and her family. 

"So bad that you decided to drink at the  _ Garrison _ ?" 

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose and downed the rest of her drink. Perhaps his questions wouldn’t be so annoying if she was well on her way of getting pissed. 

"It’s as good as any other pub here. Perhaps a bit better, I’d say. I wanted to drink in peace, and I was two blocks away. Charlie won't come until six, so I've got…" she checked her watch. "Four hours until my endless day finally comes to a conclusion. Any more questions?" 

She let him hear the annoyance she was feeling. 

_ Did he think she was going to spy on them?  _

"Yes. Who did you come to see in Small Heath?" 

Amelia felt the anger in her chest boiling close to the surface. 

"I'm here to forget about that”, she snapped. 

Just then Arthur and John came back, each carrying three dark beers.

Thomas relented. 

"Talk to us about them", John pointed at the drinks and Amelia examined them. 

She smiled at the memories, a few of the funniest from her last three years. 

"Talk about the fucking beers?" Arthur seemed puzzled. 

"Shut up. She's been raised properly, unlike us", said John. Amelia wiggled her eyebrows, ready to do anything that would stop Thomas from further questioning her. She took a glass and examined the liquid through the lights. 

"Well, it seems to me that you have a wonderful drink, possibly Irish in origin. Dark, smooth and even sensual," she took a small sip and passed it around in her mouth, tasting the drink. 

It was stronger than she expected. She cringed but tried to hide it. John was already in stitches, his cheeks red. Arthur was starting to smile, and even Thomas, brows furrowed in curiosity, seemed to be catching on the joke. "I detect notes of blackberry, oak wood and… chocolate!" She exclaimed at last. "That's right fellas, chocolate from the exotic land of Mexico! Ah, the most beautiful combination, I assure you, there's no better drink- 

"In a thousand miles around!" Finished John with a bark of laughter. 

Amelia cracked up as well, and the flicker of warmth in her spread a bit more. 

"She used to do that with the watered-down crap we had in France" John pointed at her and the other two men glanced curiously. "She'd give us reviews like that, with anything they served us. She managed to make us eat every single disgusting shite we had on our plates." 

“I wish I hadn’t started that habit”, she said, shaking her head. “The senior nurses made me walk through every tent, repeating the act until everyone had been fed.” 

Amelia realized that she needed to stop drinking, or she’d be in trouble by the time she reached Brigid’s House.

They continued chatting amiably about the wedding and their traditions. Amelia was endlessly curious about it, so she made every question she could think of. After a while, even Thomas gave her one or two friendly smiles.

Perhaps he was warming up to her, after all. 

Two hours later, two of the three Shelby brothers were completely wasted. Arthur was mumbling a song to himself, and John's head was on his shoulder. He seemed barely conscious.

Amelia was finally starting to feel as tired as she should. She’d had three hours of sleep in the entire day, and now her body seemed to be begging for rest. 

Thomas rose from the seat and she stood up as well. 

"Do you want to sit at the bar?" He offered. Amelia stared at him, astounded. 

"Me?" 

Thomas shrugged. 

"Why not? I saw you squirming in your seat and figured you didn't want to ask me to move so you could take a piss. You are the only one sober in here and I feel like sitting at the bar and chatting some more." 

Amelia furrowed her brow. She knew what he was trying to do. He wasn't completely drunk, and the tension in his shoulders wasn't entirely away. He looked and acted like a big brother, but she knew now that Arthur was the oldest. 

A face she did not want to remember appeared in her memories. Pushing it away, Amelia laughed and placed her glass on the table. 

"Alright. After I  _ take a piss _ , as you put it so colourfully, we can sit at the bar. I don't think those two will be waking up any time soon." 

When she came back he was already smoking, deep in thought. She sat to his left and asked Billy for a glass of water, noticing that Grace had left. 

"Already trying to hide your sins?" Thomas said, earning a smile from her. 

Perhaps he wouldn't keep trying to pry unnecessary information from her. 

"Unlike you, I do have a ‘superior officer’ to answer to when I get back in the morning." 

He shook his head. 

"Sister Mary. She's a handful, eh?"

"That she is. But she's only looking out for us. You know, nobody wants to work here. In Small Heath, I mean." She took out a cigarette from her purse, but he lit a match before she could. His face was close to hers then, the flame dancing between them. She grinned. The moment was brief and Amelia inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke curl inside her lungs. 

"Why 's that?" 

"Too dangerous. The other girls refused to come. Sister Mary gives all the requests to me." 

She didn't know why she was speaking so much about it. 

"Small Heath needs doctors and nurses, just like the posh neighbourhoods. This one has a bad reputation because it's full of gangsters", he said nonchalantly. She smiled again, still surprised to see a bit of a sense of humour in that man. She had figured he'd be as boring as talking to a log. Well, when he wasn’t trying to terrorize everyone with that unnerving pair of eyes he had. She finished the cigarette and put it away. 

"I don't really care about the posh neighbourhoods. Medical help should be for everyone, regardless of their… profession." 

Thomas' face changed yet again, his gaze guarded and voice low. 

"People always notice when someone takes sides. Especially here. You've been drinking with us all night, and it might attract the wrong kind of attention. Coppers, other gangs…" 

She shrugged.

"I know. The thing is, it doesn't matter who calls me. I don't care if it's you, or one of the Sloggish boys from Cheapside, or anyone. I do my job."

"That is not what your actions say. It can be dangerous for a nurse...even one with a gun."

Amelia lowered her gaze. 

"I've got some experience with that", she said under her breath, too low for him to understand. "I can take care of myself", she said out loud. 

Thomas fixed his eyes on her. 

"You are strange. But John likes you and you saved him, so."

Amelia smiled. 

"Careful, Mr Shelby. It sounds as if you are about to thank me for that."

To her surprise, he actually laughed. It was a low sound, but not unpleasant. Amelia counted it as a win. 

She took another cigarette and he lit it almost immediately for her. This time, when she looked at him she saw the beginnings of a smile pulling on his lips. 

It was captivating. 

"Why did you become a nurse?" He asked then. 

Amelia shrugged. 

She supposed that talking about it wouldn’t bring up too many unwanted memories. 

"I was needed. I helped to sew an open wound at ten years old. By the time I was seventeen, I had already mastered the art of disinfecting and closing it up. I heard about Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service and learned there until the war started.”

He seemed interested in asking more questions, but it was not to be. 

Polly Shelby burst through the doors. 

Her eyes lit with rage, she ran towards Thomas, uncaring of any other person who might see her. Her voice was low and it trembled when she spoke. 

"It's a boy!" She attacked him, barely dodging Amelia’s face. Thomas called his aunt's name several times and raised his hands so she wouldn't hit him. Amelia moved out of the way, not willing to step into another conflict. Surprisingly sober, John and Arthur stood up and grabbed Polly by the arms. The woman allowed it. "But the police came and took his father away!" She continued. Thomas shook his head dazedly, no words coming to his mouth. His breathing was agitated. "Don't you  _ dare look at me like that! _ " Polly shook the men off, and there was a heavy silence between them all. Polly half turned, ready to leave. But then she glowered at Thomas again, disgust painted in every inch of her face. "You liar", she spat on the floor and finally left.

Amelia glanced at Thomas, who seemed stunned in place. 

"I'm going to see that the baby is alright", she announced, not waiting for them to answer. 

She would do  _ one  _ good deed before going back to Brigid’s House. 

The last thing she saw before closing the door behind her was Thomas' face, changing from shock to pure fury. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we still promising cookies for reviews, or have I lost my coolness to the endless tides of time? *sobs in old*


	4. You better start running when you hear the man coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAWD this has been complicated. Real life is a bitch and I'm having trouble out-bitching it.   
> Anyway, I've got a couple things to ask:
> 
> A) I have a shitload of edits and pics for this fic that I made after carefully browsing Pinterest for the most accurate representation of my girl Amelia (no I haven't been escaping the real world, why do you ask?).   
> Where can I share them? I feel like Tumblr is dead, is tumblr dead? Do we use Discord now? What's the thing? I've got no idea. 
> 
> B) Are Thursday/Fridays good days to post? Or should I go for Saturdays/Sundays? 
> 
> I edited this with the help of Grammarly and YES, I keep finding mistakes in previous chapters. Sorry about that. 
> 
> LAST THING: I translated the lyrics for this chapter from Spanish. Honestly everyone should listen to Rosalía and her incredible voice. She's just a queen. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!!! <3

* * *

My baby has been imprisoned

For more than four hundred days (olé, Rosalía, olé)

I had him between my arms in bed 

when the police arrived (uh)

I couldn't even kiss him goodbye '(uh)

And it burns me (olé, olé, Rosa)

I swear, I swear, I swear, I swear that

As long as you are inside I will wait for you

As long as you’re inside I will wait for you

Rosalía

* * *

Polly’s silhouette was getting lost in the darkness of Small Heath. Amelia rushed through the streets trying not to trip on the cobblestones, holding her bag with one hand and her hat with the other. The freezing wind reminded her of the coat she’d forgotten inside The Garrison and she cursed inwardly. 

"Miss Gray?" She finally called. The woman stopped and turned around, her hand in a pocket that obviously held a gun. Amelia lifted her arms." I just want to go with you, see that the baby is alright- 

"Then walk quicker" she cut her off, before resuming the brisk pace she'd set. Amelia had to run to catch up. 

They took a turn and she recognized the street: Watery Lane. Realizing the gambling den was behind it, she steeled herself for the inevitable wave of panic. 

But Polly opened a different door, one that went directly to their house, and Amelia breathed again. 

The warm dining room that greeted her was just like she remembered it from her short stay: cosy and ready to accommodate a numerous family under its roof. She could tell the furniture had been moved in a rush, possibly to make John’s little sister more comfortable during childbirth. There was a pile of bloodied towels inside a bucket, but otherwise, it looked like Polly knew what she was doing.

The girl was sitting on an armchair. She’d been bathed and the baby was wrapped in a soft blanket, but Amelia noticed that there was not a drop of maternal joy on her face. Instead, fat tears fell from her eyes, leaving a shiny trail on her cheeks. The baby was asleep. 

Not for the first time, she cursed the coppers and their pathetic demonstrations of power. 

They should’ve let the father enjoy a few hours with his firstborn, at least. 

She set her bag down and got closer.

"Who's this?" The girl said, protecting the baby even more. 

"My name's Amelia Flannery and I am a nurse. I came to make sure that everything is alright both with you and your child." 

With a closed-off glance to Polly, who nodded discreetly, she gave her the baby. Amelia smiled, as she always did when faced with a newborn.

The healthy pink on his skin was a good sign, but Amelia checked that his heart and lungs were strong. Once she was sufficiently reassured, she set him down in Polly’s arms. 

"He will be called Karl. For Marx", declared the mother, distracting her. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't get your name", Amelia said softly. 

There was a silence, in which the mother's blue eyes roamed over hers evaluating the risks of revealing her name. 

"I'm Ada. Ada Thorne."

The surname finally gave her a clue as to  _ why _ the coppers had taken her husband away. 

Freddie Thorne was a well-known face amongst the factory workers, and she’d seen him a few times around Small Heath, talking to different people. He was a communist, one that believed in armed fighting to take over the factories and give them to the workers. 

“Formerly Shelby”, clarified Polly, much to Ada’s chagrin. 

Amelia noticed the similarities between her and her brothers: her dark hair was similar to Thomas’, and she had the same child-like features that John had. 

How come she had ended up marrying a communist?

“Right. Could I examine you as well? It’s crucial to make sure you’ll recover quickly.”

Ada nodded, somewhat pacified, but her eyes kept glancing to the door as if expecting more coppers to show up and take her, or her baby, away. She lied down on the table that had been used as a birthing bed, and Amelia started her routine checks under Polly’s watchful eyes. She knew the other women were impatient for her to leave. There  _ were  _ matters to be solved that could probably be best discussed away from a nurse that did not belong to the family, but the thought of offering help to Ada kept nagging her. John was twenty-four, the same as her, but Ada couldn’t be older than nineteen. 

In spite of all her training to focus on facts and not feelings, she couldn’t remain indifferent to John’s little sister. 

The police could be around the corner and beat her up just for marrying a communist. Ada was clearly not the same as her brothers. Amelia knew the girl could probably handle a weapon with enough skill that some brains would be scattered around, but it didn’t take from the fact that she was still practically a child. She looked scared and exhausted. 

Amelia knew she had to  _ do  _ something, anything, to help her. 

“I believe St. Brigid's House is a good place to stay”, she started, breaking the awkward silence. “We work almost exclusively with pregnancies and women who need special attention after giving birth.”

Polly tensed, glancing at Ada and then at her alternatively, calculating every possible outcome. Amelia waited. 

“So?” Polly threw the word at her like she would throw a knife to an enemy. Amelia raised her hands.

“Nothing. I am just saying that the police have never, ever bothered us there. And we serve four meals a day as well. Oh, and the heating is incredible.”

She finished with Ada and put her tools away, pretending not to notice the looks the other two were exchanging. 

“What is exactly your plan?” asked Polly. “And why would you offer to help?”

Amelia grabbed the nearest bucket of water and washed her hands thoroughly before speaking. 

“Coppers could get… annoying here. Not to mention, families can be quite overwhelming. Every woman needs a time of peace and quiet after an event like giving birth takes place in their bodies. Not everyone has that kind of time, but if you have the chance- Oh, and it’s free. We live on donations”, she grinned. 

For the next five minutes, Amelia dedicated herself to put away her soiled clothes and drink water to avoid the headache in the morning. She was waiting for the other two to make a choice that she couldn’t help them with. 

"And this...safe house, wouldn't it become a target for coppers to start asking questions?" Polly asked, obviously unconvinced by her early declarations. 

Amelia smiled. Turning around, she placed the bag on the table, a calculated movement that gave her time to think about her answer. 

"Every woman is welcome in St Brigid’s House. If you go through that door, you are immune. To gangs, to policemen, to the government, even to the… more masculine areas of the church. After all, every man has a woman around in some sort of capacity, and every man wants to protect said woman from others that could harm them. We don’t let men inside, with the exception of a trusted doctor that only takes the most serious cases." She looked to Polly and Ada, both now paying close attention to her. "We are good, law-abiding women in the service of God. Harmless. Catholics, yes, but not the kind that aligns with Irish rebels." 

Polly’s hand went to the Black Madonna around her neck. 

"Right then. You're going, Ada. I'll deal with Thomas myself.”

There was venom in the last sentence. Ada nodded, her eyes filling with tears one more time. Together, Amelia and Polly gathered the few possessions the girl had brought with her.

They got outside. Amelia spotted Charlie’s car near Cora’s house. She was assaulted by Cora's face, by her untimely death, but she pressed on. She had done everything her power to save the woman. For a second, in the rush of last night’s events, she had forgotten the one that started everything.

They walked towards him arm in arm. Ada had covered her face with a scarf and Polly had a veil over her head. Charlie didn't look surprised when Amelia showed up with an unexpected woman and a baby. He was a good man, she was sure of it. Still, he couldn’t know who he was about to drive. 

"Charles, this is Sarah Johnson. We're going to give her one of the rooms for a few days, just to check that everything's fine." 

"Sarah? Didn't you have a Cora last night?" 

Amelia stopped, her hand on the car’s door. 

"Eclampsia," She muttered, climbing inside and refusing to look at him. "Sarah was an unexpected case but I had time to see her before you came." 

Charlie nodded in silence and started driving back. For the first few minutes, Amelia thought her mind would never let her sleep. However, the low purr of the engine, the soft padding of the seats and the knowledge that she had done well by helping Ada didn’t take long to help her fall into a light slumber.

They arrived with the first rays of sunlight. Sister Mary was already waiting at the door. Her expression didn’t change when Ada climbed off the car, nor when Amelia stumbled on the sidewalk after being woken up by Charlie’s elbow on her side. When they got to the door, she spoke, her eyes looking at Ada up and down. 

"Name?"

Ada answered, her mouth stumbling over the words. 

"Get inside and wait for me. I'll show you to your rooms.", 

The girl lowered her head and obeyed. 

When Amelia was about to follow, Sister Mary’s hand on her elbow stopped her. 

"You. " 

With a sympathetic glance, Charlie went to park the car and resumed his spot as the convent’s doorman. 

Sister Mary raised a thick eyebrow. 

“Care to explain  _ why _ is Ada Thorne under our roof when it is clearly not a health emergency?”

Amelia opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. After a few moments, she found her voice. 

"Refuge. Her husband's been taken by the police. Her brothers are… well. You must know," she stammered at last. The expression on Sister's Mary face didn’t change, but her tone was haughty when she replied. 

"I do. A bunch of dirty criminals, with no regards to other people’s lives.” 

Amelia cringed, but sister Mary continued. “ I shall give her the rooms with no view of the streets. Is the law looking for her as well?" 

Amelia hesitated. 

"Perhaps. If they come, we’ll have to lie."

She could see the internal conflict in sister Mary’s eyes. It wasn’t unusual for them to have girls in need of protection at their doorstep, and even an abandoned baby once. They had taken in all sorts of women in several different kinds of situations. They had also discovered that the hassle with the authorities diminished greatly when they were under the impression that Brighid’s House kept away from conflict. Sister Mary wasn’t against a few white lies to keep everything calm, but if they accidentally got the wrong people on the wrong side…

“She’s under your exclusive responsibility. The others will not meet her.”

“Of course”, Amelia conceded. 

The sister made a gesture and Amelia could finally get inside the building. Together, they gave Ada a room and left her with everything she could possibly need to attend to her baby. It was still fifteen minutes for breakfast when they finished with the girl, but Amelia had another subject to discuss, no matter how many eye rolls and exasperated sighs sister Mary directed at her. She followed her into the office, closing the doors behind her. 

“There is another thing”, she started. “The case I had at the beginning, Cora’s pregnancy…”

“What about it? Get to the point, girl, I have matters to attend to. ”

Amelia told her the sad news. Sister Mary prayed for a moment, before looking at her to continue speaking. 

“I believe it would be a good place to keep around… you know, for our… safety net.” 

Sister Mary mulled over her proposal for a moment. At last, she nodded. Amelia hid a smile. 

“Go to sleep. You have five people tomorrow, so take this opportunity to rest as much as possible. And, miss Flannery?”

She was already on the door but turned around, expectant.

“I can smell the whiskey. Careful.”

She nodded and left. Her cheeks burned all the way to the bedroom. 


	5. Burning cities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO updates?   
> Yes. I couldn't wait. You'll hate me a bit after this, I think XD
> 
> I played a bit with Peaky Blinder's timeline here, btw. 
> 
> The next update should be up in a week!
> 
> I made a tumblr, you can find my edits there! And there's a post with the cast for this fic :D
> 
> https://embystarr-blog.tumblr.com/

* * *

Oh, Father tell me, do we get what we deserve?

Kaleo

* * *

“ _ Don’t  _ let her in”, ordered Ada with a haughty look. “They’re all sewer rats.”

Amelia tried not to roll her eyes, failing miserably as soon as she turned around. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to send Polly Gray home?” Amelia finally asked near the bedroom’s door. “Bloody hard, Ada! She’s about to shoot me!”

“Don’t let her inside the convent next time”, suggested the girl, nursing Karl patiently. 

With a deep breath, she left the room and went back.

"I'm in visiting time!" Exclaimed Polly, her eyes two angry, flaming pools. Amelia cringed. She did not fear the woman -anymore- but her imposing presence was intimidating. Still, she straightened and put on her best mask: the no-nonsense nurse. 

"Visitors are allowed in only if the patient consents...and Ad-Sarah has said that she wants nobody to come here except for her husband." 

Polly scoffed, shoving the basket she was carrying in Amelia's hands.

"So she wants to see a fucking communist - who is in jail, mind you- but not her own family? Tell her these things aren’t appearing out of the blue. Tommy is buying them. He thinks she’s at her flat!" 

Amelia tried not to show her weariness. This scene had been repeated three times a week for the past two weeks. 

"The patient’s consent is one of the best tools we have to protect them”, she tried again. 

As usual, Polly succeeded in controlling her temper. With a sad glance towards the hallway she turned around and left, but Amelia shouted behind her.

"Just - please- 

Polly turned around. 

"Don't tell the others where she is. We can't risk them coming here, trying to barge through the door and pulling out guns, we have enough problems." 

The woman lowered her gaze, mouth curved downwards in a bitter expression. 

"According to my nephew, he did not betray Ada's husband. I don't know what to believe. Try to make her see reason. Her father's back in town. I doubt she wants to see him, but just let her know." 

“Will do. How’s John?” Amelia asked. 

The question was almost rhetorical. John was the reason why Charlie had decided to tell Sister Mary that she was leaving Small Heath later and later every day. John kept finding her when she'd finished her rounds and they would talk for hours, until she yelled at him for keeping her away from her duties. She knew he was following her and the reasons why too, but any time she’d tried to dissuade him had been fruitless. 

_ “I won’t tell Tommy if you don’t.”  _

Polly rolled her eyes. 

“Busy with Esme. Thomas told me to send you his regards in case I saw you around.”

Her gaze became calculating while Amelia composed an indifferent smile. 

“Tell John that I want to make a bet with him. And… send Thomas my regards. I hope he is well.” 

Polly took a moment longer than necessary to stare and Amelia wanted to scream at her to go away. 

When Polly was out of sight, Amelia went to her room and sat on the bed. A long sigh left her lips and she rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the tension knotting in her spine.

As much as Ada’s situation was concerning and she wanted to put an end to it, new and unexpected trouble had come into her life. The kind of trouble that couldn't be solved by asking for forgiveness, hiding among nuns (she'd tried that) or shooting at a specific target. 

Her fingers went to the letter on her pillow. The paper wasn't expensive and the handwriting was mediocre at best, but she recognized the seal. It came from her uncle's house, in Sheffield. 

***

_ My dearest Amy:  _

_ Come with me to the Cheltenham races. I have already spoken to your superior. She has agreed to give you the day off. No excuses. _

_ Benjamin M. _

_*_ **

_“I’m sorry, but the deal we made has to be respected”_ , Sister Mary had said upon giving her the letter. 

Amelia knew that, but it hadn’t stopped her anger. Her uncle had promised to leave her alone until he needed her. That day had arrived, well before she was expecting it. 

Tempted to tear the offending letter apart and feeling restless, she stood up and paced the room. 

Uncle Benjamin was a thorn at her side. One she wouldn't be able to take out any time soon.

With growing sadness, she remembered how he’d stolen the house from her after her mother's death. Amelia had gone through hell in France and back in England too, only to find that everything she loved was gone in less than five years because of disease and one unscrupulous man. 

Blythe Hill, the house she'd grown up into, remained under Benjamin's property. The rumours said he didn't care for it and the place empty and cold, devoid of anything that made it a home. The paintings, the silverware, the handmade, century-old furniture… everything was gone in several games of poker. The building remained there, at the top of Blythe Hill, like a half rotting corpse that nobody took care of. 

She had tried contacting the old staff that lived with them, but some had died and the surviving ones were afraid of Benjamin. She had tried pursuing the case with a lawyer, but it proved fruitless. She'd lost whatever money she had left trying to make the law work in her favour.

Two years later he wanted Amelia at the races, probably to gamble away the last remains of her rightful inheritance.

Cutting off the self-compassion like one would chop liver, Amelia stood up and put on the best dress she'd been able to borrow for the occasion: a mint green piece, made in lisle, with white lace over the bodice and a conservative skirt that fell almost to her ankles. Edith, by far the richest of the nurses, had been generous enough to give it to her with a simple “It was for my brother’s wedding, and now we don’t speak.”

She chucked the gun inside her purse and put in some extra bullets, just in case. Her thoughts strayed while she arranged her hair and splashed a bit of perfume. 

The prospect of going back made her nervous. Perhaps after being so far away from that world she’d forgotten her table manners, the quiet ways in which a woman should express herself, or even the kind of look she was allowed to have on her face. Besides, Benjamin’s intentions were not clear. Why did he want  _ her  _ at Cheltenham? 

She wanted to think that it was because he needed a younger woman with him. A new pretty face wasn’t unwelcome in Benjamin’s circle, and it would showcase her uncle's triumph over her. She knew those people well enough to understand what her role was. 

The last time Amelia had attended the races she’d been barely sixteen years old. She'd been trying to behave like a proper lady in a white gown, the first “adult” outfit she’d worn in her life. Two years later, the war had started and she’d never worn such a beautiful, delicate thing again. 

She realized her uncle’s letter had opened her mind to many memories she did not expect to still have. 

There  _ had  _ been a life before the war. It had just...stopped. It felt like a hazy dream now. 

Sighing again and already annoyed at herself, Amelia walked to the front door and waited for her uncle outside, lighting up the first cigarette of the day. She gave it deep drags, trying to calm her growing nerves and the feeling that something was very, very wrong. 

She had enough time to smoke another one before he arrived, driving an impeccable white car. 

"I thought you wouldn't come, my dear" Benjamin started. “You took some time to answer my letter.”

His hair had greyed and the smile that he offered her was surrounded by wrinkles. He'd always been thin, but now he looked skeletal, with long, bony fingers and sunken eyes. 

She’d always known his vices would put him to the grave. Her chest felt as if it had been ignited, the resentment burning like a firebomb.

She  _ hoped  _ his vices took him to hell. 

The seaweed green of his irises reminded her of another pair of eyes, but she did not allow herself to sink into _those_ memories. 

She was battling enough fronts as it was. 

Amelia knew he was playing the game. 

"I wouldn't miss it for the world", she lied. “I have always loved Cheltenham.”

He let out a polite chuckle,  got out of the car and opened the door for her. Amelia tried not to feel as if she were helping in her own execution, but it was hard. Everything was so clean, so perfect, it gave away the game, the pretense that everything was fine. It made her think about the people who would be there, and what they would see. 

What they’d be willing to do if word got out? The daughter of… no. They wouldn’t want anything from her. She wasn’t under her father’s hand now, she did not have his power. She did not even want it. Surely Benjamin only wanted a woman educated enough to feel at ease in Cheltenham, and not beautiful enough that it would attract too much attention. 

The silence was becoming oppressive, but he cut it. 

"I'm happy to see you again. I was broken-hearted after we lost contact. How are you doing?"

His question made her blood boil. How dare he act as if he hadn’t taken everything away from her? 

She played with the hem of her sleeve, concentrating all her anger in one place and trying to lock it away.  __

"Busy."

The word came out tight between her teeth, slicing through the air like a knife. If it affected him, it did not show on his face. 

"With the job you have! You must be exhausted!" 

Perhaps she wasn't good at behaving like a lady anymore. 

"That's enough", she cut him off, noticing his knuckles going white on the wheel, "if you want me to pretend we're a fucking happy family in the races, that's alright with me, but I won't do it while we're travelling." 

He grimaced, his mouth turning downwards at her choice of words. Then, he started tapping his fingers. 

They remained quiet the rest of the trip, his restless tapping and the sound of the engine the only thing interrupting the tense silence between them. Her mind went back to the gun hidden in the beautifully sequined purse. Crowds and loud noises made her especially nervous, as she had discovered at her first and only party after the war, when she’d had to leave the place the moment she had arrived. 

Once at Cheltenham, Amelia was discreetly flaunted around for men and women to see. To her surprise, very few people recognized her, and the ones that did weren’t exactly warm to her. She supposed they considered her a deviated girl, estranged from her only kin left and now recently reunited in unknown terms. Or perhaps too stupid to face her uncle. Some of them knew about the conflict with the inheritance -it hadn't exactly been private, much less in such a small town as Sheffield- so the few compassionate glances in her direction stuck with her. Still, she pulled her mouth into her best smile, laughed at all the jokes and let her hand be kissed by three or four old gentlemen with no signs of disgust showing in her face. The sun shone over the grandstand, highlighting the magnificent white structure that was already filling with people impatient to watch the races. Benjamin hadn’t directed his steps over there yet, so they roamed the different rooms while she felt like a doll. Amelia noticed that her uncle did not go into the rooms where the wealthiest people were gathered, choosing instead to stick to the medium-class places. It was an odd behaviour from someone raised with money. 

“Who are you avoiding?” She whispered in his ear. 

Benjamin cleared his throat nervously. Amelia buried her nails on the skin of his forearm and he cringed. 

“No one.”

“Right. Should I go to the police, then, and find out?”

Tensing up even more, Benjamin squeezed her hand almost to the point of pain. 

“Give me trouble and I will kill you.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave a light chuckle.

“I’d very much love to see you try.” 

Her uncle had never been a good shooter, she knew that as well as him. 

Amelia had shone in that field since she was thirteen years old. 

He chose not to answer and continued dragging her around. After a while, people socialized more with them and she was forced to make small talk. 

That also reminded her of her youth. She used to be an expert at pretending she was interested in whatever superfluous thing people had to comment. 

She’d been a perfect lady, primed and ready for marriage, aware of her tasks and able to manage a house with no issue or even the shadow of doubt in her mind. 

Even if she stitched wounds and practised shooting, her role had been clear: she'd be the wife of some powerful man, and he would defend her from anyone with I'll intentions. 

Now it seemed as if her eyes had been forcefully opened, and the rotten core of those traditions had been revealed to her. She did not want to be the wife of some powerful man. 

It was with difficulty that she endured the kind of conversation that made her want to pull out her own teeth. 

An hour later the dancing started and her uncle finally allowed her to go to the bar by herself. She hoped she could stay there for a while, unbothered. 

"Whiskey, please," she asked the bartender. The man turned around to serve her and she lit up a cigarette. The music from the small orchestra amused her. It brought to light the evident discomfort of the older generations: it was bold, flirty and sensual. She liked it better. 

Amelia wondered for the briefest of moments how a party with Thomas Shelby would be. Would he dance or would he remain in the corner, ever-vigilant of the environment and the people around him and his family? Had he danced at John’s wedding, among the gipsies?

She would’ve loved to attend  _ that  _ party, noise and everything. She had loved weddings once. 

  
  


_ “...Though April showers may come your way _

_ They bring the flowers that bloom in May _

_ So if it's raining have no regrets…” _

"We need to dance together, and I have to introduce you to my associate.” 

Benjamin’s voice snapped her out of her daydream and Amelia tried not to flinch at the sudden interruption. 

He grabbed her arm, his fingers sinking painfully into her flesh, and directed them both to the dance floor. The music changed to a lively tune, one that Amelia had fortunately practised with the girls at St. Brigid's House. She danced a few minutes, letting him flutter around her like an annoying moth. Then, the song ended and a slow rhythm started. Benjamin turned her around and she was faced with a familiar face, although she could not immediately place it. She was proud of herself for being able to keep the vacant grin on her lips she’d conjured moments ago. 

The man had dark hair, a thin moustache over his smiling lips and grey eyes so dark they looked almost black. Those eyes roamed over her appreciatively, with a spark of lust in them that she didn't like one bit. 

"Amelia, dear, this is Billy Kimber, my new business partner. Billy, my niece." 

When she realized who he was, she could feel the blood draining from her face. 

Billy Kimber and the Birmingham Boys were pretty much at the brink of war with the Peaky Blinders. She knew he dominated all the race tracks south of London, and she’d had enough conversations with John to find out that Thomas wanted those tracks for the Shelby's. 

Her uncle was playing with fire, and she would get burned. 

_ Fuck.  _

He kissed the back of her hand. 

"May I have the honour of this dance, Miss Flannery?" He asked, his Birmingham accent thick under the pretence of chivalry. 

She was already being dragged to the slow steps of the song, Kimber's body closer to hers than propriety allowed. His hands felt hot over the fabric of her dress, and Amelia was starting to get really, really anxious. 

"Are you enjoying your stay at St. Brigid's house, Miss Flannery?" He asked moments later. Amelia smiled through the cold grip of fear. 

"Very much so, sir. The sisters are incredible”, she lied smoothly. 

He seemed to think for a moment. The hand on her back lowered until it made her uncomfortable. She squirmed, to no avail. 

"I've heard certain...rumours, about them that indicate differently", he squeezed her fingers. 

Amelia's heart raced in her chest. 

"Sir?" 

"Well, it came to my attention that one of the girls in the organization ventured into Small Heath. And although that is just grand, God knows those poor bastards need all the help they can get, she didn't limit herself to caring for those folks, no."

Amelia’s smile faltered and he squeezed her hand to the point of pain. There was a moment in which she knew their true colours had been revealed. He was directing their steps to the edge of the dance floor. If she behaved like the lady she’d been educated to be, she could still make an escape...at least to the restroom. 

One gaze at the door was enough for him. 

"If you try to run now, I will shoot you in the face" he warned with a smile and a casual nod in another direction. "I was telling you a story. This girl  _ went to a bar and got a drink _ with the Peaky fucking Blinders. She’s been seen talking to one of the Shelbys too. This girl that shouldn’t even be in Birmingham to begin with, because she has family in Sheffield.”

"I- 

"If you interrupt me again I will stab you twenty times before finishing you. I promise I can make you feel each one of them." 

Amelia closed her mouth. 

"Wise decision, girl. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I have a bit of a problem with them Peaky Blinders. A racing problem, if you must know. I gave those bastards a few betting pitches and a legal fucking race track, but then I heard from the fucking coppers under my protection that they were planning on betraying me! So, what do I do now?" There was a moment of silence, in which Amelia kept her face carefully blank. 

The confirmation of her worst suspicions was like a slap in the face, and more so the way it had turned against her. 

"As it turns out, I have the solution. I've heard the girl in question even stayed the night at the Shelby hovel, and was driven back to St. Brighid's house by Thomas fucking Shelby himself. Then I find out she has an uncle and said uncle wants to do business. He’s drowning in debt, something terrible indeed. What a way to spend the family fortune. So he comes down from Sheffield only to speak with me. Lucky for me, not every favour has to be paid with money." 

She could feel everything at once: Kimber's cigarette-smelling breath, his fingers splayed on her back, his chest against her… he invaded each and every single one of her senses. Her eyes escaped towards the people around them, trying to find her uncle. He was there, looking at them, a storm in his eyes. Forcing herself to breathe steadily, she kept her gaze fixed on him. The only one who shared her blood in the entire world. 

Her uncle turned around and left with her bag, and thus, her gun. 

She was absolutely outnumbered, unarmed and at the mercy of Billy Kimber. 

Amelia shivered against her will. 

"You will be the undoing of the Shelby’s little pack. Now come with me, and smile. We're having a good fucking time." 

They left the dancing floor in the direction of the parking spots for vehicles. They walked past the bookies and Amelia tried to find a way to escape, or someone to help her, but nobody was paying attention. Billy Kimber was known for being a womanizer and a regular client of exclusive brothels, they’d even cared for some of his companions at St. Brigid's after a particularly rough encounter with him. He was violent and enjoyed it. 

Besides, nobody from Small Heath would recognize her with the clothes she was wearing. 

They were getting to the car when Benjamin appeared out of nowhere, Amelia’s gun in hand, pointing it at Kimber. 

"You can't take her! I will pay for the debt myself, but you can't take her!" He screamed, his hands trembling and his eyes filled with tears. 

Amelia was rooted to the spot, afraid that he would accidentally shoot the gun and astonished at her uncle's sudden burst of courage. Kimber was behind her, his head over her shoulder, his nose on her hair. "She's the only family I’ve got left, please…" he begged. 

"How will you pay then?" Asked Kimber, suddenly interested. 

"I will do anything to- 

Kimber’s arm came from behind her, gun ready. Amelia watched the scene as if it were a film: The shot rendered her hearing to a loud ring, her uncle's face became a red mass of blood and tissue and he fell to the floor, lifeless. She was dragged to the car and thrown in the back. She didn’t resist.

Billy Kimber put a hand over her knee. His other hand grabbed her hair, undoing the bun that held it together. Then he spoke into her ear. 

"When this is over, I’ll have you for myself a few hours. We'll have a good time...nurse." 

That sentence brought her back from the dazed shock she had been in. Amelia pursed her lips, forcing herself to think outside the emotions she was experiencing. It took her a few moments to gather her scattered thoughts. 

She was about to be used as bait between Kimber's men and the Peaky Blinders. As far as she could tell, he believed she’d fucked either John or Thomas. The truth didn’t matter, only that fact: Kimber had attacked her because he’d seen her inside the Shelby’s house.

She had no means to escape, no weapon -except for the one pointed at her head- and no contacts that would know her whereabouts aside from sister Mary who wasn't waiting for her until later that day, in her uncle’s car. Charlie had gone to London and nobody would be there for her. 

She was alone. Her only option was to wait until the last minute possible and then attempt an escape. 

The hand on her leg rose to her thigh and she clenched her jaw. She needed to see Kimber dead. She wanted his blood splattered on the ground, she wanted to see his eyes becoming glassy, she  _ needed  _ him to stop touching her. 

Amelia thought of her family, now extinct. Her father's voice echoed in her mind and she got lost in the memories. 

_This is the last day of your life, Billy Kimber._


	6. You must know life to see decay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. This is a monster of a chapter. I considered splitting it into two, but it just can't be done. 
> 
> It depleted all of my energy, but I finished editing. I still can't believe I did it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it and pleeease review if you can! I need the extra motivation after this, phew! I'm exhausted. 
> 
> I used Grammarly for all the mistakes.
> 
> For extra pics and some edits, follow me on Tumblr! 
> 
> https://embystarr-blog.tumblr.com/post/633993632600489984/show-chapter-archive

* * *

_ Pass me that lovely little gun _

_ My dear, my darling one _

_ The cleaners are coming, one by one _

_ You don't even want to let them start _

_ They are knocking now upon your door _

_ Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds _

* * *

Before she knew it, the dirty cobblestones of Small Heath muddied her white shoes. The day was coming to an end and most of the factory workers would be returning home, but she saw no one in the narrow streets near Garrison Lane. They probably knew what was about to go down and had decided to keep themselves safe. 

Billy Kimber was going to slaughter the Peaky Blinders like pigs. 

Amelia did not entertain the idea to escape the fight. She’d seen the vehicles filled with men, she had no chance. They’d shoot her dead, no matter what she tried. 

So, she let Kimber drag her to a secluded space where a man was waiting for them. The gangster took a sharp knife from his pocket and placed it on her neck, right over the carotid artery. She kept her eyes locked on his, unwilling to show him the fear gripping her chest. He seemed surprised by it but smirked nonetheless. 

"Now pretty girl, one false move and he will blow your fucking brains out. Careful now." Kimber said. Then he looked at the man behind her. "You go out when I say it, Harry." 

She felt him nod behind her. Kimber left and the knife at her throat was replaced by a pistol at the side of her head. 

Amelia focused on her rage at being handled as if she were an animal. She let it fill her chest, infecting each and every one of her veins until her blood was boiling with it.

She would  _ not  _ be a victim of a gang war. 

She had survived worse things. 

The street was a bit elevated, which made it a perfect spot for surveillance. 

From her angle, she could see men approaching from both ends of the street, but they weren’t able to spot her. The Peaky Blinders were vastly outnumbered. A new wave of nausea hit her and she had to close her eyes. She breathed deeply, trying to reign in her body. The ringing in her ears lowered to an unpleasant buzz a few minutes later and she could hear the moment Kimber gave the order to bring her forward. 

She tried to resist this time, knowing that nobody would shoot her until some kind of gloating or negotiation had taken place. 

Harry’s hand closed over her mouth and nose and she tried to bite him. He chose to put the end of the gun right into her right eye until she quieted down. 

"I thought I'd give myself a little advantage today as well, gipsy rat", spat Kimber. Thomas was eerily still, but she saw the calculating glint in his eyes when he glanced at her. She wasn’t part of his plan either. To his left, John was visibly constraining his rage. "Just to be prepared in case you pulled shit like the one you just did with the fucking machine gun." Amelia felt the cold steel of the gun below her chin and stilled. She had about ten men to her left. Freddie Thorne was among them, holding a machine gun that did not belong in a normal English street. 

She’d seen those in France. 

All of them had their weapons raised and ready. John's eyes were fixed on her and she tried a small smile that came out more like a grimace. He clocked the shotgun and got a warning glance from Thomas. 

"What does she have to do with this?" Asked Thomas. 

"Well, she's mine. Given to me by her uncle, like your kind does. Except this one's your friend, ain't she? Or maybe a bit more than that from what I’ve heard. One bullet from you savages is all I need to butcher her in front of you. I will enjoy myself." 

Thomas shrugged.

"And if we keep shooting?" 

Kimber smiled. 

Amelia refused to show how afraid she was. She knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t be significant enough to warrant losing to Billy Kimber. Maybe John would help her, maybe Thomas would stop him, but she had to think that none of those men would lift a finger for her. 

_ She would not die in a gang war.  _

They were all still but tense, waiting for the others to start the bloodbath. 

Were a few fucking race tracks worth losing a family member? 

Amelia did not have an answer. 

"Move!" Said Ada's voice from behind them. Dumbfounded, the men obeyed and Ada walked by her, baby Karl in his trolley. Amelia’s mouth fell open.

"Ada, what are you doing?" Thomas' voice came out a bit desperate. 

"I believe you boys call this no man's land," she said, putting herself between the two groups. 

"Ada come ‘ere!" Said Freddie Thorne. 

"Shut up," she said in the direction of her family. 

"Ada!- 

"I said shut up!" She exclaimed. Kimber looked at Harry, his expression confused. Amelia could feel him shrugging against her. She had to suppress the strange urge to laugh at their faces. Ada continued, her voice sombre and angry. "Now most of you were in France. So you know what happens next. I've got brothers and a husband there but you all got  _ somebody _ waiting for you. Now I'm wearing black in preparation! I came here on foot, just to speak to you all. I want you to look at me." 

There was a pause, in which Ada turned and let the men see her. Amelia's breath hitched, amazed at her courage and determination, scared for the newborn and her friend. Karl started to cry. "I want you all to look at me! Who'll be wearing black for you? Think about them. Think about them  _ right now,  _ and fight if you want to, but that baby ain't moving anywhere and neither am I."

The men looked at each other again, guns still raised, but Amelia could see the impact of Ada's words on them. 

Killing a young woman and her baby wasn’t something anyone could do easily, not even men who’d been in the war. 

Behind her, Harry lowered his gun, unsure of what to do.

Amelia took a very small step forward, hoping he wouldn’t notice her intentions. The arm that he had around her didn’t tighten but didn’t let go either. Her hand brushed the gun and he didn’t notice. 

Amelia could feel a drop of sweat going down her back.

She hadn’t been counting on Ada, but she was truly a gift from heaven. 

"She's right you know," said Kimber pleasantly. "Why should you all men die? It should just be them who caused it!" 

He raised his gun and started shooting. 

Amelia’s heart skipped a beat when Thomas leaned forward. He’d been shot, she could see the blood on his hand. 

A man from the Peaky Blinders lurched forward screaming, but three bullets got to him before he could do anything and he fell. 

“Don’t shoot!” screamed Ada’s husband, desperate. 

Amelia felt the eerie quietness to the core of her bones and slammed her head against Harry’s nose. He screamed and his blood fell on her hair. She snatched his pistol, clocked it and pointed it at Kimber. 

It was her only chance, she probably wouldn't make it out alive. Kimber’s men hadn’t yet reacted to her actions, but they would and she’d pay with her life. 

She had a clear shot, and Ada was looking at her with disbelief. Amelia pursed her lips and aimed. 

It felt surreal to know she was going to kill again.

Her finger tightened on the trigger, cold and unforgiving. 

Billy Kimber’s forehead was the only thing that existed in the world. 

_ She  _ would put a bullet in it. 

Taking a deep breath, she shot.

She felt the gun’s recoil on her shoulder, but there was another bang to her left at the same time. When she looked, Thomas was the only one with his pistol raised, his index finger still pulling back the trigger.

Billy Kimber's lifeless body fell backwards onto the mud, a surprised expression still etched in his features. 

Amelia threw the gun on the floor, realizing that Kimber’s men weren't even looking at her. All eyes were focused on Thomas. 

Harry laid unconscious behind her, his nose a bloody mess that she wouldn’t be helping with. Amelia scooted closer to the wall and to the Peaky Blinders. There still was a chance of a bloodbath and she had done her part to deserve a bullet. 

John glanced at her and started moving too, as discreetly as he could. 

"Enough!" Thomas yelled, and his men lowered their weapons. She froze in place. "Billy and I fought this battle one on one. It's over. Go on to your families." 

The silence was heavy, the people uncertain. One false move and it’d be carnage.

She forced herself to keep an even breathing. 

_ Which one of us killed him? _

In the end, Kimber's men went away carrying their boss' body with them. Thomas looked back. 

"Scudboat, Curly, pick him up", he ordered, pointing at the corpse of the young man. Amelia could smell the blood in the air. He glanced at her and she locked eyes with him for a moment. 

She realized he knew what she’d done. There was something in his eyes, something that told her that her actions wouldn’t go without consequences. 

“Are you alright?” John said. Amelia blinked and focused on her friend. 

“I- 

“Where were you? Where did he get to you?” 

She shook her head. 

“At the races. I was at the races in Cheltenham.”

_ “What?” _

Just then, the Garrison's bartender appeared around the corner, running for his life. 

"Mr Shelby! Coppers! Coppers searching for you!", he cried out. 

Thomas cursed out loud.

“You all go!” 

He was still in the middle of the street, standing like a statue, blood dripping from his left hand and clearly in a considerable amount of pain. Everyone obeyed, running in different directions. She had decided what to do when John appeared in front of her again.

“Come with us”, he said, grabbing her by the elbow. 

“No! I’ve got a better place to hide until this is over”, she countered. 

“Come on!”

She shoved him away.

“Fuck off John!  _ I said I fucking know where to go _ !” She screamed, enraged. 

John muttered a curse and left her there before getting lost around the corner. 

Thomas looked at her again and she sprung to action, running to him and grabbing his uninjured arm. 

"I know where to hide." 

He didn’t try to resist, which was a miracle in itself. 

She guided him to the secluded corner she’d been in moments ago and stopped there.

“Why the fuck are you-

"You can't look like a gangster, at least take this off!" 

She grabbed his hat and threw it away. It didn’t do much, but she hated the bloody thing. Then she took his hand in hers and started running.

Cora’s house wasn’t far away from the Garrison, but they had to use the back alleys to get there. Night was falling and everyone seemed to have disappeared. The police hadn’t reached the Shelbys home and business, barely a few houses down the road. Amelia had trusted on that and she smiled to herself. Grabbing the key hidden under a loose cobblestone, she urged him inside first. She could hear the policemen nearby and locked the door behind her. 

When Amelia burst in the flat, the rancid smell of humidity slapped them in the face. 

Darkness enveloped them, but she was relieved. The curtains were closed, the police wouldn’t get in there, and Amelia knew the precise location of every candle. 

She set to that while Thomas stood there, examining everything as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. 

She concentrated on the task at hand. If she stopped to think, everything would collapse. He needed medical help.

But first, the lights. 

Once she could see inside, she directed her steps to the bedroom, where she found the medical supplies she’d put there three weeks ago. Thread, needle, forceps and alcohol. 

Going back to the kitchen, she took a deep breath and confronted Thomas. He was about to ask a question, but she interrupted him before he could even start. 

“Right. Undress, please. I’m taking that bullet out of your body and closing up the wound before you bleed all over the floor.”

Stunned into silence, he obeyed. 

Once his chest was exposed, she made him lie on the dinner table and passed him the bottle of gin she’d put in the cupboard. 

“This is going to hurt, but you’d do me a great favour if you didn’t scream. Help yourself.”

She handed him the gin and he took a swig, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. 

When he handed it back, she poured a generous amount of alcohol over the wound. His back arched and the veins of his neck stood out while he contained the scream trying to rip through his body. Amelia grabbed his hand and he squeezed to the point of pain, but she kept her face neutral. He breathed heavily and clenched his jaw, looking at her with something similar to hatred. 

She wanted to roll her eyes. How many men had tried that act before? She’d lost count, but she knew one thing: they all ended up crying when a bullet had to be extracted from their bodies. 

Amelia carefully cleaned the area with a piece of cloth until she was able to make a better judgement. 

It looked like the bullet hadn't reached behind the bone. She sighed, relieved.

“Well, it won’t kill you, we can be sure of that. This isn’t gonna feel good, by the way. I need you to stay very, very still. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

“Fucking hell”, he muttered under his breath. 

The lack of anaesthesia would make it very difficult. 

Amelia threw herself over his chest and constricted his arms with her body. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!?” He asked. 

She kept her eyes on the open wound. 

“Shut up and trust me. You have no choice.”

“Fuck off-

“Thomas Shelby!” She glared. “Stay  _ fucking  _ still!”

He stopped moving, although he seemed ready to strangle her to death. 

“I’m not accustomed to being spoken to like that.”

Amelia did not care. 

With her free hand, she carefully put the forceps inside the hole, until she felt the bullet. His breathing was heavy and he was starting to sweat, but his lips were pursed so firmly that they had become white. She admired his ability to not scream.

Amelia realized her hand was trembling and bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. 

“Remain relaxed”, she ordered. “Or it’ll hurt more. Please.”

He tried, but his entire body was tense. Amelia focused, the tip of her tongue peeking between her lips and her brow furrowed. She buried the forceps around the bullet. He shook and hit his head against the table. The lines of his forehead deepened. 

“Talk to me”, Amelia said suddenly. 

“About  _ what”,  _ he managed through gritted teeth. 

“About- horses. Talk to me about horses. John told me that you used to work with them, a long time ago. Do you still love them?” 

He stared at her, breathing heavily. Amelia nodded reassuringly. 

His body was very, very hot. She could feel it through her dress. The shaking, the sweat and the temperature slowly rising. If he developed a fever, she had practically no means to lower it unless she made him bathe in cold water. 

Amelia  bet both her hands that it wouldn’t be possible to do that. 

“We Shelbys have the love for horses in our blood”, he said. 

“Did you have a favourite one, when you were little?”

He started talking. Amelia pulled on the bullet slowly and he cut off, but she encouraged him softly. All the tissue around it was swollen and tender, and a few drops of blood ran from his shoulder to his armpit. He kept talking about different races, different colours and the care each of them required while she kept extracting it, as gently as she could. 

“Bloody fucking hell, finally”, she muttered when she could see the metal glinting under the blood. “You know, I had a pony when I was little and an old mare when I was around thirteen, but my family did not place bets on them or brought them up for races. The pony was a gift for my brother, Walter, and when he became too tall for it, I adopted it and named it Prince Blueblood.”

She threw the bullet on the table and cleaned the blood before standing up. 

His eyes followed her, but she doubted he was listening. 

Even so, she kept talking while gathering the needle and thread. 

“When me and my brothers played together, they divided in two: Walter and Seamus were my protectors, Oliver and Edward were robbers. I was the princess, of course. More often than not, I would fight to escape them too.”

“Where did you grow up?” He whispered. 

Amelia startled and furrowed her brow. 

She’d been rambling about her family to Thomas Shelby. 

He had risen to the occasion. 

“I grew up in the outskirts of Sheffield”, she said finally.

There was no harm in sharing  _ that _ , was it?

She started sewing, but he didn’t seem too affected. Amelia supposed that he’d ran out of capacity to even feel that kind of pain. 

“We went up there once”, he mused. He looked half unconscious. “It was beautiful. Filled with hills and forests. We would eat the best deer we could hunt.”

She smiled and finished up the stitching. He’d have to wait and wash himself and she could bandage him. They had no hot water. 

“Sheffield deers are remarkably good”, she confirmed. “I haven’t eaten in years.”

Amelia left him there and went to the kitchen, knowing that Camilla had stored clean water and wood for the oven. The house had everything anyone could need when arriving in an emergency. She’d put all the first aid equipment, but Camilla had thought of the  _ people _ that would be there. 

There was also food under the sink and possibly, she hoped, clothing in the wardrobe. 

The church bells indicated that it was already midnight. Her movements were slow and heavy, weighted down by the tiredness she felt into her bones. She put water to boil and sat down. Soon enough, the warmth from the fire made her realize she'd been freezing almost the entire day. 

She wanted nothing more than to tear off her dress and change into something different, thick and clean. 

Her mind kept replaying her uncle's death, and then Kimber's. She knew no woman in Birmingham would miss him, and probably few of his men would be sad, but she had broken a promise to herself. 

_ A life for a life, isn't that the rule? _

Thomas' hand on her shoulder startled her so much that she gasped and stood up, hand already going to the pocket of her dress. It was empty. His chest was still bare and she looked away, embarrassed. How was he still strong enough to stand up?

"Amelia", his voice was softer than usual. "You are crying." 

She froze. Her fingers flew to her face and she could feel the moisture there, over the cheekbones and under the eyes. 

Tears. 

"What?" Her voice trembled. 

But a sob tore away from her chest, and soon she was weeping uncontrollably. He looked as uncomfortable as she was, but his good arm wrapped around her shoulders anyway. 

His skin was soft and warm, and the touch sparked something in her. For a moment, she could almost imagine- 

Amelia took a small step back, afraid of her line of thinking. 

_ He’s half-naked,  _ she thought, somewhat scandalized. He seemed to notice the same thing and looked away. He turned around, put his shirt on and came back with the bottle of gin, offering it to her. 

"It'll help", he whispered.

"It won't fucking help", she shook her head and he chuckled bitterly. "It'll just make me drunk."

Amelia grabbed it anyways and took three long sips, feeling the alcohol burn all the way down to her stomach. 

The silence that followed was heavy with words to be said. She did not want to be the first to say them. 

"Why did you shoot?" He whispered, his gaze searching hers.

Amelia shook her head, feeling new tears streaming down her cheeks. She clicked her tongue, trying to force them to stop, but it was futile. They seemed to have their own will. 

"It had nothing to do with you if that’s what you’re asking. He-" she cut off, the picture of her uncle's sunken face fresh like a wound in her mind. "Kimber murdered my uncle Benjamin." 

"Why?" 

Perhaps she was crying every tear she hadn’t in the past four years. 

"My uncle owed Kimber money. I was the alternative currency. In exchange for me, all his debts would be paid for. Benjamin was a compulsive gambler and a bad businessman. He went to the wrong loaner. When Kimber found out that I saved John's life and that I drank with you all at the Garrison, he decided to use me against you first, and then- you know. Take me for himself." 

Amelia shivered, unable to think of the consequences if she hadn't managed to escape. It eased the iron grip around her heart to know that Kimber wasn’t a threat to her anymore. She sat back down and he dragged a chair near her before doing the same. 

He looked like he’d been trampled by a herd of the horses he loved so much. There were dark circles under his eyes, he was far too pale and the blood stained his entire chest. She wasn't surprised by the dark understanding she saw in his face. 

"And I'm guessing that this pretty dress was for Cheltenham." Thomas touched the fabric at her elbow. His fingers grazed the bare skin of her arm. 

She nodded. The lace had ripped and the seams were frayed. Another dress ruined. She wondered idly if that meant she should be walking around with the things she could find in the donation box at St. Brigid's. 

"Do you feel guilty?" He whispered then, almost shyly. His eyes were lost somewhere around the room, searching for something that wasn't there. "Of shooting Kimber, I mean." 

Amelia finally dried her eyes, hoping that the tears had subsided for at least a few hours.

She did not know what to feel. 

"Do you have matches? We need to start the heater or we'll freeze to death", she said instead. 

He stood up and did it for her, the wood sparkling to life. Standing up slowly, she went to the kitchen and controlled the water.

Only then, when the task at hand allowed her to think beyond emotions, she spoke. 

"It was- payment. I- perhaps I shouldn’t speak like that. I did it because he thought I belonged to him. He was going to-", she breathed slowly. "I don’t have mercy for men like that. Which bullet do you think got him first? Mine or yours?” 

In truth, she felt numb after crying, like her feelings had decided to keep away for a while. She wanted to wash her face and sleep forever. 

"It's no use wondering that, ey? He's dead and won't be coming back." 

Thomas shrugged. It was true, it didn't matter. Still, Amelia felt the question would never leave the outskirts of her mind. Which bullet had been the one to kill him? Had she gotten her revenge or had Thomas done that for her? 

In a quiet, intimate moment, she hoped it was hers. The thought didn’t horrify her anymore. Kimber was dead but the memory of his hands and his words was still very much alive. 

They remained in silence for a few minutes, until Amelia noticed steam rising from the water. 

"I am going to wash myself", she announced, "and you should do the same once I’m finished. We smell terrible, and your arm needs bandaging." 

He chuckled and Amelia left him alone, sitting by the heater, the bottle near his hand. She carried the bucket of hot water and closed the curtain, grateful to be alone at last.

The bedroom seemed like a new place. The chaos and filth from before had been cleaned up. The old, mouldy portraits and crumbling wallpaper had been taken off, and the wall had been painted white. The mattress used to be an old and half-rotting lump, but now in its place it stood a new one, thin but clean. She opened the drawer to find a thick, conservative nightdress and a wool blanket. Finding also a small piece of soap, she proceeded to wash herself thoroughly. 

Amelia felt as if she were getting rid of every terrible thing that day had brought with it. The sweat, the fear, the blood and the rage that had possessed her stained the water and left her body. She was tempted to throw the dress into the fire along with her stockings and her ruined shoes. In the end, she just piled them up in a corner. Before changing into the nightgown she observed her body in the mirror. She couldn’t see past her chest, but it was enough to reach out to her reflection, almost as if she were seeing her face for the first time. 

Her own gaze was unbearable. 

Why was someone like  _ her  _ alive? 

Finally, she threw on the nightgown and padded out into the dining room. 

Thomas was still staring fixedly at the fire. 

He looked so human and so heartbreakingly alone that it was almost surprising. 

"I’m finished.”

He moved his head towards her, startled. His eyes went over her nightdress, but nothing gave away his thoughts. 

Without a word, he went inside the bedroom and Amelia heard the splash of water shortly after. 

She sighed. The only thing preventing her from falling asleep was the fact that she hadn't eaten a thing that day, and Thomas was in the same situation. Amelia set to prepare two bowls of soup and brought them to the table after heating them up quickly. 

Ten minutes later, she heard him again. 

"You have killed before", came the voice when she was about to sit down. Amelia stilled her movements, a cold shiver running through her. 

Even knowing that it was a matter of time before he asked, the question had sneaked up on her. 

"I have", she confirmed. He came out of the bedroom with his trousers on, chest bare, and she realized she still had to bandage him. 

“Come ‘ere. I’ll finish with the injury and then we can eat.”

Thomas sat down in front of her. Amelia noticed that he was surprisingly well built, for a man that seemed to live purely on cigarettes and whiskey. He now smelled of soap and all the grime from the fight was gone. She gathered the bandages around her.

This time it was different. He wasn’t trembling under her hand, nor was he bleeding on her, nor was he trying to contain the urge to scream. Still, there was some reticence in his gaze, as if he did not know what to expect from her now. Amelia was standing in front of his naked chest and the position was intimate, as if they were something other than reluctant acquaintances.

But he was a wounded man and she was a nurse. That wasn’t real intimacy. It was only circumstance and it would end as soon as she stopped. 

Shaking her head, Amelia asked him to tense his arm and started. She kept her touch light and soft, just like she tried to do in France with the men in the hospital. Something made her think that he wasn’t used to being touched with care, for he seemed about ready to jump from his skin. 

“Don’t worry”, she reassured him. “This isn’t supposed to hurt too much.” 

“I’m not worried”, he said. “I’d be in the hands of Jeremiah by now. He served as a doctor in France. Takes bullets out with fucking spoons.”

Amelia chuckled. 

“I’ve done that too. Not spoons, but knives weren’t out of the question. You’re lucky I did not choose that first”, she smiled. He mirrored her expression and remained in silence, a bit more relaxed. 

The scene was so domestic and so strange at the same time that for a moment, she wanted to laugh. However, his question was still hanging between them, heavy and unavoidable. 

"When did you kill first?" 

She raised an eyebrow.

"I think that's a bit obvious."

"Yes, I know it was in France", he scoffed. She refrained from saying something harsh. "What I want to know is how, and why a nurse would kill someone. You don't seem the type of woman who would commit murder."

Amelia inhaled deeply and finished tying off the bandage before bringing him his coat. Then she served the soup. 

"Could we eat first? I don’t want to talk about murder now. It’s a story for another day. Or perhaps you should ask John”, she suggested. 

Amelia felt as if the events he was asking about had happened to another person, in another life. The screams of the soldiers, the blood that had sprayed her face, the horrified look in their eyes as they died...it all felt alien to her, yet it was sealed inside her memory like a brand over the skin of cattle.

But the night was too long, and those particular shadows still hunted her nightmares. 

Amelia raised her face defiantly, expecting anger in Thomas’ eyes. What she got instead was a slow nod. 

“John owes you his life, and probably his leg as well. I’m not interested in hearing it from him”, he said. “But you will answer when I ask you again.”

She rolled her eyes, unable to put into words the feeling invading her body. His entitlement annoyed her. He behaved as if he were the owner of everyone’s life, but she wouldn’t play into that game. They started eating quickly, both of them tired beyond measure. 

“You have so many questions for me, yet I don’t have the answer to a very important one: why were the coppers looking for you like hunting hounds?” 

It was his turn to still then, his head cocked to the side, eyes staring up and down her face. He didn’t look willing to answer. 

“Do you think I’ll go to them now? After murdering a man in cold blood?” Amelia smiled faintly, waiting for him to say something. She knew he could see her hands trembling, but she wasn’t afraid of him. It was the fear her own actions caused her. 

“Our secretary, Grace Burgess, betrayed us. She was an agent for inspector Campbell”, he finally said. There was something guarded in his eyes, like a secret or a promise. She remained silent. “She told him about… the guns we had.”

“Guns? You mean like the machine gun you had today? I knew it! That kind of weapon belongs on a battlefield, not in Birmingham. How on Earth did you find something like that?" 

He shrugged. 

“I mean like a whole crate of guns. It fell into our hands like gold from the sky, and we were all too happy to have them. They turned into a bloody fucking curse. Everyone was looking for them, and I had all sorts of folks coming and going from the Garrison. Irish rebels, the fucking coppers, other gangs… I met fucking everyone.” He rolled his eyes. “And then Grace, our ex-secretary, she- started going out with Arthur. She worked at the bar, so they spent together most of the time. He fell for her. He insisted on us hiring her to keep the books. She's good with numbers, that is true. I’d put Arthur in charge of some meetings with low-level members of the IRA, and she killed one of them. Arthur took care of the other. A bloody mess, that was. I haven’t received confirmation from him, but I’m sure he said something about the location of said guns, or she found out on her own. In any case, Arthur wasn’t the one running the operation, I was. That’s why the coppers were looking for me, and that’s why I need to lie low. I know that Inspector Campbell will go back to Belfast tomorrow morning, and I plan to hide until he’s gone. Then we’ll be at peace, and I’ll have three legal race tracks. In truth, we should be celebrating.”

She stared, open-mouthed. 

“Fuck”, she managed at last. “I seriously need to read the fucking newspapers. I’m sure the word of missing war guns reached at least one of them.”

Amelia stood up, missing the amused smile on Thomas’ lips. She picked up the plates and put them in the sink, not wanting to wash them right away. When she came back, he had another question for her. 

“Amelia?” She looked at him, her cheeks flushed by the heat of the fire. 

The liberty of using her name and not her surname was, she supposed, a sign that he perhaps trusted her a bit more. 

“Yes?” 

“What is this place? Why did you bring me here?” 

"A safe house. Owned by the Order of Saint Brigid of Kildare." 

"What?" 

“Now that I’ve brought you here, we won’t be able to use it anymore. So I guess there’s no harm in telling you.” She bit her lip before straightening up. “We keep safe houses for women on the run.”

He frowned. 

“Women on the run?”

“Yes, yes. We shelter them here a while, with different names, in places where nobody knows them. Most of the time they’re escaping from violent husbands, fathers or brothers. So we help. We offer a safe place, for a while. The opportunity to work, to learn new skills.” 

“How many houses like this are in Birmingham?”

She shook her head. 

“I don’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Only members of the Order and some nurses are allowed to know all that information.”

He didn’t like that, but Amelia knew that he had no way to find out unless he stole the archives in Sister Mary’s office, and that was impossible. 

“You wouldn’t tell me, ey?”

“I wouldn’t tell a soul. I’ve ruined this one now, with you here. We had just finished fixing it.” 

She supposed that being there, protected and warm, was infinitely better than hiding in some dark alley, especially when she considered her lack of coat. It did not ease her regrets at ruining the refuge for everyone else by bringing a Peaky Blinder in, but she hadn’t thought of that in the heat of the moment. 

Perhaps she should’ve gone with John and let Thomas get caught. It wasn’t as if he were- well, the best person around. He’d been about to riddle Billy Kimber with bullets. But then so had she. Perhaps that made them similar. Perhaps he could understand what her brain had become. 

“You won't go back to Brigid's House today, right?”

She frowned, puzzled at the question. 

“Of course I won’t. They weren’t expecting me until tomorrow morning if I didn’t come today and- I don’t know if they’ve heard about my uncle yet.”

He raised one eyebrow and bit the inside of his cheeks as if he were considering her words carefully. 

Only then she realized what he’d asked. In her haste to bring them to safety, she hadn't considered the fact that the flat, for all of its purposes, only had one bed. 

His words had made her nervous. She knew he couldn’t sleep on the floor, not when he was wounded, but she did not want to have him laying next to her. 

When they stood up, she still did not know what to do. 

“Right. Time to sleep, then”, she said uncertainly. 

The fire had warmed the house, chasing away the musty smell of the walls. Amelia went to the bedroom and got the blanket out of the wardrobe. He entered behind her and an uncomfortable silence set between them. 

“Right” she repeated unwillingly. “Fine. I’m not a lady, but I’m not a monster either. You can get in bed with me. There’s unfortunately only one blanket but it’s big enough for the both of us to sleep under, and we have your coat. What do you say?” 

He smiled with a mischievous spark in his eyes, but strangely, she did not feel threatened. 

“I say yes, but what will the other nurses say when you get back?” 

She furrowed her brow.

“They won’t know, of course. I don’t plan on telling them, and I hope you don’t go around Small Heath running that mouth of yours.” 

He let out a low chuckle. 

“I won’t.”

“Promise me. I can’t have people afraid of calling me here. Please.” 

He held her gaze.

“I give you my word.”

She nodded once. Sighing with resignation, she lied down and put the blanket up to her forehead, closing her eyes tightly. A moment later, she could hear him blowing out the candles. 

The mattress sank under his weight and she did not move one inch. 

“Goodnight, Amelia Flannery.” 

“Yeah, alright. Sweet dreams.”

Not five minutes later, her breathing evened out and her body relaxed. 

  
  
  


*** 

_ Her hands were covered in blood, but not her own. Amelia recognized his heavy steps before she saw him. Tears obscured her vision, yet she tried to see him, pushing past the fear. The white rose on his breast pocket was unmistakable, even if his face was erased, darkened beyond recognition.  _

_ “Father?” She tried to speak, choking in the process, her fingers digging in her neck, trying to pull the words out. He laughed maniacally, and she realized she was sinking in a pool of blood at her feet. She had to run away, because he kept getting closer and he would never let her go if he had her in his grasp. Her legs felt like lead, and the blood reached her chest before she could even move. He got to her then, and all she could see was the brim of his hat, his maniacal smile and his eyes, cold and unforgiving.  _

_ “You are like me now, dear Amelia. We are the same. We are the same!" _

_ He repeated the words over and over, his mouth oozing black blood, teeth stained and the unending smile. She screamed at him, tried to move, but the blood around her had turned to mud, and the germans were coming, and all she had was a fucking pair of scissors- _

_ *** _

Amelia sat up gasping for air, eyes jumping wildly around her, trying to find her father in the shadows. 

Then she noticed the warm body at her side and stilled enough to look at him and remember her surroundings. Thomas was asleep, his lashes dark against the pale skin of his face. He didn’t look peaceful, his hands and legs twitching, his mouth moving as if he were to speak.

She sighed and rose, knowing that sleep would not come for the remainder of the night. A second later, a hand grabbed her wrist and tugged forcefully. Amelia felt the sudden pull on her shoulder and fell backwards, directly on Thomas’ lap, her back slamming against his chest. His forearm closed around her neck and his other arm imprisoned her torso with a strength she hadn’t known he was capable of. She struggled against him until he came to and pushed her away as if she were a grenade. He was breathing heavily, his haunted look fluttering about the room, same as she had done mere moments ago. 

“Sorry” she said, her voice raspy. “I- 

“I-” 

“You were having a nightmare. I was too. Sorry for- 

She interrupted her words, letting the silence settle between them. Her father’s eyes were shining in her mind, sharp as they’d always been. 

Amelia lowered her gaze. 

“I thought you were- going to attack me", he explained. 

The chuckle that escaped her lips was as surprising to him as it was to her. She cradled her head between her fingers.

“Fucking hell. We’re truly fucked, aren’t we?” She rose again, already missing the warmth of the bed. “I’ll be back in a moment.” 

She went to the kitchen. Putting her head against the cold glass of the cupboard, she whispered to the darkness around her, crushing the fear she felt like a cockroach. 

“If you are listening from hell, I hope you know this: I will never do the things you did. I will be better than you. Fuck you for chasing my nightmares. Fuck you for dying." 

Amelia knew it was a lie. She had already done many terrible things. 

Her face contorted in grief and anger, but the words had been said, and she hoped they carried the meaning to him, wherever his mangled body was buried. 

Coming back to the bed, she saw Thomas staring at the wall in front of them, a haunted shine over his eyes. With slow movements she lied down again, this time facing him.

“Tommy?” She tried at last. He seemed to be pulled from a trance. His name was weird on her tongue, and yet she liked the informality. 

“Yes?”

“Please, could you lie down? I- the blanket-

“Of course”, he slipped under the covers and turned to her. He was close to her, his breath soft against her face, his eyes searching hers. 

“I didn't mean to attack you. I- am not used to having someone else on my bed.”

Amelia knew a thing or two about the things he seemed to be experiencing. In fact, she’d become an expert at diffusing them while in France. There were so many soldiers unable to sleep, screaming and shaking with fear…but she’d nursed them through the night, sometimes several nights in a row, until they could get at least eight full hours of rest. 

None of them were healed, but at least they slept. 

None had been there for her own nightmares.

She smiled and looked at him, eyes narrowed.

“Is that so? Somehow I was not expecting this confession. Thomas Shelby, the renowned Birmingham businessman, sleeping on his own. It is a sad day for the English women as a whole, I’d say”, she laughed lowly and he smiled in that solemn way of his. It was endearing, and the thought of combing his hair with her fingers went through her mind for a small, almost insignificant moment. She discarded it as soon as it appeared and kept her hands to herself. 

“It is so.” 

“Do you want help with that?” 

At his surprised expression, she corrected herself. 

“I mean with the lack of sleep, of course.”

“What exactly is your idea?” He asked, a teasing undertone in his voice. She could still see he was reticent to her offer. 

“I can sing. Nobody can sing at the Garrison, but perhaps your hatred of music doesn't extend to every song in the world?”

She waited while he considered her offer.

“Alright”, he conceded finally. "But I'll tell you to shut up if you're bad."

Amelia chuckled, knowing that to be true. 

“Get comfortable, if you please”, she pointed at the pillow behind him and he obeyed, his eerie blue eyes fixed on her. “I promise I don’t sing too much out of tune.”

Once he was settled, his hands behind his head and his legs crossed on top of each other, she closed her eyes and lied down as well, picturing the lyrics in her mind. The song was -as most Irish songs- sad, romantic and a bit old-fashioned. She remembered her mother singing it on a quiet evening, and for a moment the memory was so perfect she could have cried. 

Her voice rose discreetly in the night, enveloping them in a strange and peaceful atmosphere. She finished the first part and felt Thomas’ hand on hers, the barely-there pressure noticeable enough that she paused in her singing. 

"Keep going", he whispered. It wasn’t demanding or menacing, only there. Fragile, like a glass sitting on the edge of a table. Something inside her stirred and made her heart race. 

And so she obeyed. 

When the second part was over she started again, feeling his calloused thumb press small circles into the palm of her hand. Somehow, every time he completed one she felt almost out of breath, and the thought of embracing him, of being enveloped in his arms, of being comforted by him was less and less unbelievable. 

Amelia repeated the lyrics three times before the circles became erratic and stopped, and she knew he was asleep. Her body was near his, she could feel the heat of his skin. Thomas's hand was still in hers. There, under the thick blanket of the night, she dared to squeeze his hand before closing her eyes as well. The moment was tender, and she almost felt like they were the only two people in the world, safe under those covers and in that house, where no enemies could find them, no trouble could ruin their lives. Where perhaps, they could quiet down the other’s nightmares for just a few hours. She felt herself drifting away, closing her eyes and finally relaxing.

The next morning, Amelia woke up and discovered that Thomas was gone. For once, she felt well-rested. Knowing she’d have to get back to the convent, Amelia decided to have breakfast in the house before dressing up and leaving for good. 

She walked to the kitchen and discovered Sister Mary, sitting on the table and knitting a pair of socks. Her blood froze but her thoughts raced to make up excuses. Had she seen Thomas? When the older woman looked up, Amelia rushed to talk. 

“I am sorry. I had no way of going back to the house. I ran into trouble at Cheltenham, and then had to come here, but everything’s alright. Nothing happened. I promise.”

Sister Mary’s dark eyes looked her up and down carefully. 

“Mr Shelby told me that before leaving. I am relieved to see that you are unharmed. I got word of the unfortunate incident at Cheltenham, and I believe condolences are in order. As for the other matter... Let’s speak not one more word about it. I have important news for you.”

Amelia frowned and her mind filled with questions. Unmarried women faced expulsion if they spent the night in the company of men. That had always been the rule at St. Brigid’s. So why did Sister Mary seem alright with the idea of her spending the night with one of the most dangerous men in Birmingham?

But she had no time to mull over the question, for the other woman stood up and her expression had changed to one of deep sorrow. 

“My dear”, Sister Mary said, her voice low and full of compassion. “Someone is looking for you.” With a bad feeling settling in her chest, Amelia steeled herself for the news. “He told me his name is Samuel Garvin… and he knows about your family.”

**Author's Note:**

> The original characters and original plot belong all to me and are registered under the Safe Creative Organisation.   
> If you find the work anywhere else, please tell me about it!  
> If you recognize any character, it belongs to the Peaky Blinders writers and producers.


End file.
